The  Villa  of  the  Peacock 


The  Villa  of  the 
Peacock 

And  Other  Stories 


By 

Richard  Dehan  ;    ; 

Author  of  "  The  Dop  Doctor  " 

Gr   \     -f , !  y  ^      T~ 
*-  *w  u>  «  *  .     <—  — ' 


New  York 
George  H.  Doran  Company 


Printed  in  Great  Britain 


Annex 


TO 

THE    MEMORY 
.    OF 

WILLIAM     HEINEMANN 


2135626 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 13 

THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN 79 

DOROTEA  ET  CIE  123 

THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP 168 

THE     EXTRAORDINARY    ADVENTURES    OF    AN 

AUTOMOBILE 215 

THE  SILVER  BIRCH 296 

COUNTESS  AND  COUTURIERE 307 


II 


THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK. 

I. 

IT  stands  in  a  fashionable  suburb  of  the  gayest  and 
prettiest  watering-place  in  all  the  Kingdom  of 
Donda,  San  Silvestro  on  the  Bahia,  close  to  the 
northern  frontier.  Of  cream-white  stone,  quaintly 
designed  and  beautifully  built,  its  high-pitched 
roofs  sheathed  with  the  deep  chocolate-brown  tiles 
of  Donda  North -West,  its  shutters,  casements, 
balconies,  doors,  verandahs,  enamelled  lizard-green, 
the  sumptuous  villa  standing  in  carefully-tended 
grounds  full  of  palms  and  tree-ferns,  mimosa, 
syringa,  magnolia,  and  the  white-blossomed  acacia, 
Persian  lilac  and  jasmine,  white,  pink  and  yellow, 
embowered  in  its  thickets  of  roses,  its  verdant  lawns 
adorned  with  beds  of  seasonable  flowers,  seemed  a 
fit  setting  for  a  mistress  as  handsome  as  the  sardine- 
merchant's  wife.  On  the  level  of  the  drawing-room 
balcony  between  the  long  windows,  a  ten-foot  high 
plaque  of  magnificent  majolica  representing  a  pea- 
rock  in  all  the  glory  of  his  displayed  plumage  had 
been  built  into  the  wall. 

The  peacock  has  gone,  leaving  a  long  scar  upon 
the  masonry.     The  House  of  the  Peacock  stands 

J3 


i4       THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 

empty,  its  paint  blistering,  its  woodwork  warping 
under  the  savage  rains  and  frosts  and  suns.  Don 
Abramo  Zabalza  is  dead;  dead  also  is  the  lovely 
Donna  Teresa  who  turned  the  heads  of  the  dandies 
of  the  Plaza  de  Nautilo  and  the  Avenida,  and  many 
persons  of  greater  importance,  and  never  suffered 
an  admirer  to  kiss  the  tip  of  her  little  finger.  "  For 
am  I  not,"  she  would  demand  of  her  female  friends, 
making  great  eyes  of  indignation  and  folding  her 
white  arms  upon  her  swelling  bosom,  "  a  virtuous 
married  woman,  the  esposa  of  my  Abramo  and  the 
mother  of  his  child?" 

"  And  such  a  child !"  the  gossips  would  squawk 
in  chorus.  "  '  Dios,  que  hermoso  esl'  To  see  the 
angel  in  his  little  goat-carriage  upon  the  Paseo  with 
his  nurse  and  his  aya,  as  splendid  as  a  little  king ! 
And  the  likeness  !  Was  ever  anything  so  marvel- 
lous? Two  chick-peas  could  not  be  more  alike!" 

And  innocent  Donna  Teresa  would  laugh  and 
blush  and  shake  her  finger,  plumper  than  of  old, 
but  a  dainty  little  digit  still,  and  if  her  infant  angel 
happened  to  be  near,  whip  him  up  and  kiss  the 
narrow  oval  cheeks  and  the  bright  brown  eyes  and 
pouting  underlip  of  the  urchin  who  so  oddly  re- 
sembled the  youthful  King  of  Donda,  though 
senior  to  his  sovereign  by  a  year. 

One  recalls  how  suddenly  Aldobrando  I.  of 
Donda,  a  good  churchman,  a  capable  ruler,  and  a 
faithful  husband  to  his  Austrian  wife,  died  upon  a 
hunting  expedition  among  the  mountains.  The 
receipt  of  the  telegram  precipitated  an  event  eagerly 


THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK        15 

awaited  by  all  monarchists.  Vast  crowds  assembled 
outside  the  royal  palace  at  the  Dondese  capital  of 
Calamaria  upon  the  night  of  the  Queen's  day  of  be- 
reavement, asking  one  another:  "Will  it  be  a 
King?"  When  the  royal  standard  with  its  great 
rampant  bulls  was  hauled  down  from  half-mast  to 
run  up  and  break  at  the  top  of  the  flagstaff,  a  sustained 
11  Th'  th'  th'!"  of  relief  went  up  from  all  those 
lisping  Latin  palates.  The  guns  of  the  fortress 
were  dumb  out  of  consideration.  It  was  a  hot 
spring  night.  The  people  dispersed  to  eat  gazpacho 
and  tortillas  and  drink  the  health  of  the  new  con- 
stitutional monarch  in  frothed  chocolate,  syrup  of 
currants,  or  sorbos  of  aguardiente,  whilst  guitars 
and  mandolins  throbbed  or  vibrated  accompani- 
ments to  national  and  loyal  songs,  and  shouts  of 
"  Viva  el  Rey!"  rent  the  clouds  of  state-monopo- 
lised cigarette-smoke  tangled  amongst  the  branches 
of  the  oaks  and  cork-trees  beneath  which  the  tables 
of  the  revellers  were  set.  For  to  the  contented 
monarchists  of  San  Silvestro,  where  so  many 
million  duros  of  the  royal  revenues  were  annually 
spent,  a  baby  King  a  brace  of  hours  old  meant  con- 
tinuance of  the  dynasty  under  which  security  and 
good  order,  piping  peace  and  comfortable  quiet  had 
been  enjoyed  by  classes  and  masses,  who  had  reason 
to  sicken  at  the  memory  of  the  years  of  confusion, 
intrigue,  plot,  and  counter-plot — pull  devil,  pull 
baker — between  a  Pretender  to  the  throne  and  an 
Heir-presumptive  robbed  by  reversion  of  the  Salic 
Law. 


16       THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 


II. 

The  resemblance  of  the  sardine  merchant's  son  to 
his  young  sovereign  did  not  lessen  with  the  boy's 
growth.  It  was  marvellous,  extraordinary,  one  of 
those  strange  and  not  unusual  duplications  of  an 
individuality  that  have  constituted  the  amusement, 
the  provocation,  very  often  the  torment  and  the 
curse  of  the  men  or  women  thus  played  upon  by 
jesting  Nature  since  Shakespeare  wrote  A  Comedy 
of  Errors  upon  the  theme. 

Abramo  Zabalza,  originally  a  fisherman  of  the 
Bahia,  who  had  invested  his  wife's  dowry  in  busi- 
ness and  amassed  a  fortune  as  a  sardine-merchant, 
became  richer  still,  unluckily  for  his  youngster, 
who  was  reared  by  fond  and  foolish  parents  in 
iuxury,  and  gratified  in  every  whim.  Twice  in  each 
year  the  King  visited  San  Silvestro.  One  may  be 
sure  the  attire,  carriage,  gait,  mode  of  speech, 
habits,  tastes,  whims  of  the  royal  urchin  were  care- 
fully noted  by  the  doting  Teresa  and  her  circle  of 
gossips,  nor  was  Zabalza  himself  innocent  of  vanity 
in  this  regard. 

Certain  lackeys  of  the  palace — persons  honest, 
responsible  and  trusted,  but  chatterers  nevertheless 
— one  or  two  elderly  duennas  of  the  same  type,  were 
made  welcome  at  the  House  of  the  Peacock,  to  be 
flattered,  caressed,  and  cossetted  on  condition  that 
they  talked  about  the  King.  Don  Enrique  himself 


THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK        17 

— the  spoiled  and  pampered  urchin — learned  that 
such  and  such  tones,  gestures  and  movements  bore 
more  fruit  in  the  gratification  of  his  wishes  than 
others,  and  worked  the  oracle.  When  he  was  ten 
years  old  or  so,  his  sailor-suits  and  costumes  Ecossais 
were  (privately)  procured  from  the  firm  of  haber- 
dashers who  imported  these  garments  for  the  youth- 
ful Aldobrando  II.  On  his  tenth  birthday  the  King 
entered  as  a  cadet  of  the  Royal  Infantry  Training 
School,  and  since  their  idol's  vulgar  antecedents 
debarred  him  from  sharing  the  studies  of  royalty, 
the  infatuated  parents  must  buy  their  cub  a  little 
uniform  to  strut  in  at  festas,  and  engage  a  sergeant- 
instructor  to  drill  him  into  shape. 

As  might  have  been  expected,  as  the  boy  became 
a  youth  and  the  youth  a  man,  this  fostered  idiosyn- 
crasy became  obsession.  He  framed  himself  labori- 
ously upon  his  model,  reproducing  characteristics 
until  tricks  of  expression,  gait,  voice,  became 
involuntary.  Educated  by  a  constantly  changing 
succession  of  highly  certificated  private  tutors,  the 
finished  product  of  their  labours  bore  out,  upon  the 
attainment  of  his  majority,  the  truth  of  the  vulgar 
proverb  connected  with  a  multiplicity  of  cooks.  A 
handsome  person,  agreeable  and  easy  manners,  a 
taking  bonhomie,  lavish  generosity  to  those  who 
humoured  his  whims,  or  aided  in  the  gratification 
of  his  wishes,  were  counterbalanced  by  a  fierce  and 
jealous  temper,  a  disdainful  attitude  towards  those 
high  things  which  have  at  all  times  commanded  the 


18       THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 

reverence  of  the  noble-minded,  and  a  most  colossal 
vanity. 

Dressed  for  the  part  for  which  Nature  had 
equipped  him,  the  heir  of  the  i;ch  sardine-merchant 
speedily  became  chief  with  a  set  of  polyglot  un- 
desirables, frequenters  of  the  Gran'  Casino  and 
hangers-on  of  the  Opera  coulisses.  These  were 
tickled  by  the  oddity ;  even  flaneurs  of  a  better  cfass 
took  Don  Enrique  up  and  petted  him,  so  that  un- 
instructed  foreigners,  seeing  the  youth  made  much 
of  in  such  company,  conceived  wild  ideas  of  the 
democratic  habits  and  easy-going  abnegation  of  re- 
serve and  dignity  manifested — or  so  it  seemed  to 
them — by  Donda's  constitutional  sovereign.  Never 
by  word  or  look  or  sign  had  the  King  showed  him- 
self aware  of  the  existence  of  the  double  who 
haunted  public  places  where  royalty  drove  or 
walked,  dressed,  as  far  as  his  tailor  dared  humour 
his  idiosyncrasy,  after  the  fashion  of  His  Majesty; 
until,  after  a  flying  visit  to  a  northern  capital,  the 
betrothal  of  Aldobrando  II.  was  announced  in  the 
Court  Gazette  and  such  daily  Press  organs  as  were 
staunch  in  their  advocacy  of  monarchist  prin- 
ciples ;  when,  greatly  to  his  consternation,  Abramo 
Zabalza  received  a  visit  at  his  counting-house  from 
an  official  of  the  palace,  the  Court  being  at  the 
moment  in  residence  at  San  Silvestro. 

The  honest  sardine -merchant  had  prospered 
greatly  since  the  birth  of  his  bantling.  From  a 
dealer  in  the  raw  commodity,  he  had  become  a  manu- 


THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK        19 

facturer,  exporter  and  purveyor  on  a  huge  scale  of 
the  sardine  in  oil,  the  sardine  in  oil  with  olives, 
tomatoes  or  pimiento.  Two  manufactories  under 
the  name  of  Zabalza  ceaselessly  turned  out,  except 
on  Sundays  and  festas,  a  constant  stream  of  the 
preserved  delicacy  in  all  its  varieties,  which,  with 
various  other  cates  and  comestibles,  Abramo 
Zabalza,  Especerio  to  His  Majesty,  retailed  at  six 
large  establishments  in  the  town. 

The  interview  was  short  but  effective.  The  Queen 
Mother's  Chamberlain  delivered  his  message.  For 
years  the  presumption  of  Zabalza  had  been  noted, 
tolerated,  and  pardoned  in  recognition  of  his  spot- 
less character  and  in  sympathy  with  the  parent  of 
an  only  son.  Now,  since  presumption  had  over- 
leaped all  barriers,  since  a  young  man  whose 
plebeian  features  Heaven  had  designed  to  model  in 
some  degree  of  likeness  to  Heaven's  own  anointed, 
not  only  favoured  the  resemblance  by  unlawful 
means,  but  exhibited  himself  to  the  people  of  San 
Silvestro,  at  the  Gran'  Casino,  the  restaurants,  ball- 
rooms, and  other  places  of  resort  less  reputable,  in 
the  company  of  undesirable  persons,  both  male  and 
female,  at  last  the  sword  must  fall.  Behold  Abramo 
Zabalza,  who  had  thriven  in  royal  patronage,  de- 
prived of  the  royal  warrant.  Further  action  on  the 
part  of  supreme  authority  could  only  be  stayed  by 
the  summary  exile  of  Zabalza's  offending  son. 

"  Excellencia,  mercy!"  the  unhappy  tradesman 
stammered.  "  Never  have  I  or  the  boy's  mother 


20       THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 

dreamed  of  offending  Her  Majesty.  .  .  .  From 
childhood  to  manhood  .  .  ." — Abramo  was  getting 
incoherent — "  the  Holy  Saints  my  witnesses  .  .  . 
devotion  to  the  Throne  as  to  the  Faith  !  But  to  send 
away  our  son — No,  es  impossibile!  Por  Dios,  Ex- 
cellencia,  plead  with  Their  Majesties  I" 

Thus  the  unlucky  Abramo.  But  the  Chamberlain 
was  inexorable.  Having  been  endured,  the  younger 
Zabalza  could  no  longer  be  tolerated. 

"  Her  Majesty  grieves  at  the  necessity  of  inflict- 
ing so  severe  a  punishment.  Don  Enrique  must 
take  up  residence  abroad,  senor.  The  royal  warrant 
must  be  taken  down  from  the  shops  and  the  manu- 
factories and  erased  from  all  tins,  boxes,  bottles, 
and  catalogues.  Your  son  must  live  abroad — in 
Paris  a  young  man  of  his  tastes  would  find  a  very 
agreeable  pied  a  terre.  Her  Majesty  particularly 
indicates  Paris,  pray  remember  :  Paris  is  the  con- 
dition of  her  continued  leniency  and  Christian  toler- 
ation towards  yourself  and  your  family  !  For  now 
— now  that  the  King  is  to  take  upon  himself  the 
responsibilities  of  a  husband  and  a  father,  the  in- 
violability of  the  royal  reputation,  the  spotlessness 
of  the  royal  character,  the  sacredness  of  the  royal 
person,  must  not  be  tarnished  by  the  constant 
presence  upon  the  soil  of  Donda  of  an  individual 
bearing  so  infernal — ahem  ! — so  compromising  a 
likeness  to  royalty  as  your  son.  Accept  these  terms 
with  gratitude  for  the  clemency  of  Her  Majesty. 
Obey  at  once,  or  the  police  will  close  your  shops 


THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK        21 

and  manufactories,  the  royal  warrants  will  be  taken 
down  by  the  public  executioner  " — a  neat  touch 
that — "  and  burned  at  the  municipal  destruidor  " 
— another.  "And  so,  senor,  I  leave  you  in  the 
keeping  of  Heaven." 

Upon  which,  with  the  usual  compliments,  His 
Excellency  took  leave  and  was  conducted  to  the 
door.  And  the  unhappy  Abramo,  who  had  grown 
obese  with  his  banking  account,  suffered  an  attack 
of  vertigo  and  was  taken  home  by  his  chief  cashier 
in  a  cab  to  his  terrified  and  bewildered  wife.  Upon 
being  bled  and  cauterised,  he  recovered  sufficiently 
to  falter  out  the  story,  and  expired,  fortified  by  the 
rites  of  Holy  Church,  before  noon  of  the  follow- 
ing day.  Before  the  tombstone  recording  his 
virtues  as  citizen,  husband,  and  father  had  been 
completed  and  set  up,  his  heartbroken  Teresa 
followed  him.  Don  Enrique  found  himself  heir  to 
a  great  fortune  and  without  a  friend  in  the  world. 
His  pious  mother's  religious  director,  a  Canon 
Regular  of  the  Cathedral  of  San  Silvestro,  a  person- 
age of  high  principles  and  discretion,  in  favour  with 
the  Court  and  Society,  and  popular  amongst 
financial  circles  in  the  town,  assisted  the  young 
man  to  arrange  the  matter  of  turning  the  Zabalza 
business  into  a  limited  company.  Thus,  being 
possessed  of  a  large  fortune,  besides  something 
approximating  to  another  half-million  in  fully-paid 
shares  in  the  parental  concern,  the  exiled  son  of 
Zabalza  the  sardine-merchant  shut  up  the  Villa  of 


22       THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 

the  Peacock,  quitted  his  native  land  of  Donda,  and 
betook  himself  to  France. 


III. 

Don  Enrique  Zabalza,  up  to  the  age  of  thirty-six, 
when  sublunary  matters  ceased  to  absorb  him,  was 
a  familiar  figure  in  the  Gallic  capital,  as  at  Rome, 
Vienna,  Hungary,  Monte  Carlo,  Biarritz,  and  other 
pleasure-resorts  of  the  world. 

The  passage  of  years  seemed  but  to  intensify  the 
resemblance  that  was  at  once  his  good  fortune  and 
his  bane.  Physically  speaking,  that  is  to  say,  for 
the  high  degree  of  personal  courage  displayed  in 
the  attitude  of  the  monarch  towards  anarchists,  for 
instance,  would  have  been  impossible  to  Don 
Enrique.  To  laugh  when  the  revolver-bullet  of  a 
would-be  assassin  has  grazed  one's  cheek,  or  when 
the  coachman  and  wheelers  of  the  State  coach  have 
been  killed  by  the  explosion  of  a  bomb ;  to  change 
coolly  over  to  a  Minister's  carriage  and  proceed  upon 
the  route;  to  have  been  exposed  for  one  calendar 
month  to  risks  and  perils  such  as  every  day  and 
every  hour  attend  upon  the  pathway  of  the  most 
Catholic  and  constitutional  sovereign  of  a  country 
seething  with  hatred  of  the  Church  and  rotten  with 
Rationalism,  Positivism,  and  anti-Christianity, 
would  have  speedily  whitened  Don  Enrique's  hair 
and  reduced  him  mentally  and  physically  to  a  jelly. 

But    he    was    a    notable    runner,    leaper,    and 


THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK       23 

swimmer,  a  fine  swordsman,  a  master  of  horseman- 
ship, a  keen  automobilist,  a  matchless  tennis- 
player,  and  a  courageous  gamester  to  boot; 
possessed,  moreover,  of  a  discriminating  taste  in 
wine,  tobacco,  masculine  fashions,  and  feminine 
charms.  And  he  took  care  to  exhibit  the  more 
showy  of  these  accomplishments  upon  all  the 
famous  world-arenas  where  kings  compete  with 
commoners,  achieving  successes  duly  recorded  in 
the  fashionable  intelligence-columns  of  the  news- 
papers to  the  immense  amusement  of  Society,  and 
the  undisguised  delight  of  his  townsfellows,  the 
brawny  fisherfolk  and  the  plump  tradesmen  of  San 
Silvestro's  old  town. 

"  El  Mozo  has  won  the  Paris  Grand  Prix  with 
Petardista,  his  caballo  de  carrera,  and  broken  the 
bank  again  at  Homburg "  (or  Monte  Carlo,  or 
Monaco).  "He  has  carried  off  the  Gold  Cup  at 
the  trials  of  the  Cercle  de  I'Escrime  and  disarmed 
Domenichio,  the  Italian  maestro.  And  yesterday, 
on  the  Deauville  raqueta-courts  he  won  the  first 
single  in  the  Tobert  cup  tie  after  a  battle  of  two 
hours  in  the  blazing  sun.  It  may  be,  amigos,  that 
by  the  permission  of  the  saints,  we  shall  one  day 
see  him  play  for  San  Silvestro  Old  Town  on  our 
own  juego  de  pelota,  for  it  is  a  shame  a  Dondese  of 
Donda  should  do  no  honour  to  his  native  city,  and 
the  boy  is  an  angel  and  a  wonder  at  the  game." 

"El  Mozo"  ("The  Boy")— that  was  the  old 
town's  nickname  for  the  exiled  scapegoat  and 


24       THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 

scapegrace.  As  nicknames  will,  it  stuck  to  him 
and  followed  him.  Did  not  Miss  Jeanette  K. 
O'Geogehan-Sculpin,  the  distinguished  American 
journalist,  in  one  of  her  sparkling  "  Society  Snap- 
shots," regularly  cabled  from  Paris  to  the  Edi- 
torial Bureau  of  the  Fortnightly  Female  Com- 
pendium of  Social  Doings,  published  at  Potts- 
town,  Penn.,  U.S.A.,  communicate,  that,  at  an 
afternoon  reception  at  the  exquisite  hotel  of 
Madame  la  Comtesse  Chiquet  de  Petit-Bleu  (not 
far  from  the  Fauberg  St.  Honors')  she  (Miss 
O'Geogehan-Sculpin)  had  enjoyed  the  distin- 
guished honour  of  meeting  the  Marquis  of  Almozo, 
brother  (upon  the  ringless  hand,  be  it  whispered) 

to  His  Majesty  the  K.  of 

This  item  of  aristocratic  intelligence,  imported 
from  Paris  and  bruited  in  New  York,  recrossed  the 
herring  streak.  London  society  periodicals  of  the 
less  illuminated,  served  up  the  Marquis  de  Almozo 
anew.  Ere  long  the  use  of  the  title,  ingenuously 
conferred  upon  Don  Enrique  by  Miss  O'Geogehan- 
Sculpin,  became  general.  Some  pretty  lady  at  the 
Court  of  Donda  tittered  it  into  the  ear  of  Aldo- 
brando  II.  from  behind  the  shelter  of  her  fan; 
some  pompous  minister,  at  the  close  of  a  political 
or  diplomatic  conference,  may  have  unbent  in  the 
frank  atmosphere  of  the  King's  study  sufficiently 
to  broach  the  jest.  Aldobrando  II.  laughed 
heartily,  suggesting  that  the  Archivista  Real 
should  be  directed  to  draw  up  the  patent,  and  that 


THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK        25 

the  Heralds'  College  of  Donda  should  be  com- 
missioned to  design  a  coat-of-arms  for  the  new 
peer,  quarterly  of  four,  blazoning  three  sardines, 
argent,  naiant  on  a  blue  field,  waved,  a  tomato 
proper,  a  tin-opener  erect,  gules,  and  a  peacock 
in  its  pride. 

A  poor  piece  of  wit,  possibly,  but  sharp  enough 
to  pierce  to  the  very  quick  of  its  object.  Zabalza's 
mistress,  a  dancer  of  the  Opera,  who  had  been 
refused  some  costly  bibelot  she  coveted,  had 
gathered  the  story  from  an  attache1  of  the  Dondese 
Ministry  at  Paris,  and  half  in  anger,  half  in  jest, 
repeated  it  to  Don  Enrique.  The  result  took  away 
her  breath.  Ten  first-class  devils  were  unchained 
in  her  Futurist  flat  in  the  Rue  Kleber  by  her  own 
indiscretion.  She  gained  the  sensation  of  her  life, 
and  hopelessly  lost  her  heart  to  a  man  whom,  until 
that  moment,  she  had  tolerated  and  betrayed. 

"Ah'h!  Infamous  1  Vile  wretch!  Is  it  thus 
you  stab  me?  Me  who  have  cherished  you  as 
the  ball  of  my  eye !  .  .  .  Has  Heaven  given  you 
no  more  wit  than  serves  you  to  leap  to  your  ruin  ? 
Qu&  desgrdcia!  that  I  should  have  wasted  my 
thousands  on  you.  .  .  .  What  am  I  doing?  .  .  . 
See  what  I  am  doing !  ...  Y  pues!  are  not  the 
accursed  things  my  own?  .  .  .  Pu&cal  Sucia! 
Thrice  abominable  I  There  !  there  1  and  there  I 
.  .  .  Behold!" 

Thus  Don  Enrique  juriosame'nte',  whilst  darting 
hither  and  thither,  from  the  big  glass-topped  toilet 


26       THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 

table  to  the  vast  wardrobe,  from  the  boudoir  to 
the  salon  and  back  again,  he  stuffed  his  pockets 
with  the  jewels,  his  gifts,  which  the  imprudent 
fair  one  had  worn  at  supper  on  the  previous 
night,  tore  up  laces,  jumped  upon  marvellous 
hats,  reducing  them  to  ruins,  swept  price- 
less china-ware  and  valuable  bric-a-brac  from 
dtageres  and  tables,  starred  costly  mirrors  with 
stabs  of  the  poker,  slashed  oil-paintings  by  cele- 
brated masters  to  ribbons  of  canvas,  and  did  not 
desist  from  his  self-imposed  labours  until  the  con- 
cierge of  the  Avenue  Kleber  flat,  accompanied  by 
a  policeman,  appeared  upon  the  scene. 

Don  Enrique  was  more  than  gracious  in  his 
reception  of  these  visitors.  He  greased  the  palm 
of  the  sergent  de  ville  with  a  billet  of  50  francs, 
told  the  concierge  to  sweep  up  and  chuck  into  the 
dustbin  all  that  rubbish,  including  the  prostrate 
form  of  the  swooning  diva  in  the  contemptuous 
southern  gesture  which  accompanied  the  words. 
Then  Don  Enrique  looked  for  and  found  his  hat, 
set  it  at  a  defiant  angle,  rang  up  his  car,  descended 
to  the  vestibule,  and  quitted  the  flat  and  its 
mistress  for  ever,  not  without  protestations  upon 
the  lady's  part. 

She  had  never  been  so  vilely  treated,  she  vowed 
in  a  whole  series  of  letters,  written  on  rose-tinted 
paper  with  passionate  purple  ink.  The  man  was  a 
human  monster — a  being  incapable  of  remorse, 
dead  to  honour,  deaf  to  sentiment,  adamant  to  the 


THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK       27 

assaults  of  love !  She  would  forgive  everything 
if  Don  Enrique  would  return.  That  was  the  re- 
frain. But  Don  Enrique  never  did. 

He  had  lived  gaily  and  enjoyed  life,  but  he  was 
a  Dondese  of  Donda,  who  had  been  rendered 
fatherless  and  motherless  and  exiled  from  his 
native  land  for  no  reason  other  —  thus  Zabalza 
phrased  it — than  an  accidental  resemblance  to  his 
sovereign  lord  the  King. 

Now  the  King  had  jeered  at  the  man  whom  he 
had  injured.  Thenceforward,  above  the  attrac- 
tions of  sport,  the  charms  of  the  green  table,  the 
allurements  of  sensuous  pleasure,  the  desire  of 
vengeance  reigned  paramount  in  the  heart  of 
Abramo's  son.  To  the  attainment  of  his  end  he  now 
sought  and  obtained  the  entry  into  circles  composed 
of  units  instead  of  individuals,  who  owned  groups 
instead  of  families,  and  answered  to  numbers  instead 
of  names. 

IV. 

What  is  anarchy  ? 

Anarchy  is  the  negation  of  order,  produced  by 
the  fevered  revolt  of  the  degenerate  human  unit 
against  those  governing  institutions,  monarchical 
or  republican,  which  are  accepted  by  the  sane 
majority  as  indispensable  to  the  maintenance  of 
order  and  the  resulting  welfare  of  mankind.  The 
social  revolutionary,  while  professing  to  despise 
power  and  the  employment  of  organised  force, 


28       THE  VILUA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 

which  men  term  militarism,  aims  at  the  acquire- 
ment and  monopoly  of  unlimited  power  by 
terrorism,  which  is  force  applied  without  humanity. 
To-day,  in  Bolshevism,  we  have  example  of  what 
wanton  wreck  and  ruin,  degradation,  brutality,  and 
filth  must  inevitably  follow  the  unscrupulous  use 
of  terrorism.  In  the  spring  of  1914,  when  the 
catastrophe  of  world-war  was  close  upon  us,  we 
were  less  wise  than  we  are  to-day. 

Civilisation  wavered  on  the  edge  of  Armageddon, 
the  aerials  of  great  wireless  installations  thrilled 
with  intrigue  and  warning,  the  tuned  spark  sang 
of  the  coming  life-and-death  struggle  in  the  ears  of 
many  men  in  many  quarters  of  the  globe. 

Upon  a  night  in  the  May  of  1914,  in  a  long,  bare, 
ugly  basement  room  in  Soho,  only  illuminated  by 
a  grated  pavement-light,  through  which  the  muni- 
cipal standards  in  the  street  above  threw  a  bluish 
glimmer,  rendered  stuffy  by  an  anthracite  stove  at 
which  many  papers  were  continually  burned,  a 
gathering  of  men  and  women  of  all  nationalities 
and  types,  some  haggard  and  half-starved,  some 
sleek  and  well-dressed,  were  assembled  on  rows  of 
chairs,  or  benches  ranged  two  or  three  deep  about 
the  plastered  walls.  They  were  delegates  repre- 
senting various  centres  of  anarchical  activity  at  this, 
the  London  Congress  of  Social  Revolutionaries, 
held  in  the  spring  of  1914  to  discuss  forthcoming 
propaganda.  In  the  centre  of  the  room,  under  an 
incandescent-gas  standard  of  the  inverted  T-type, 


THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK        29 

eight  men  and  two  women  sat  in  the  semi-gloom 
about  a  table  of  ink-stained  deal.  A  Windsor  arm- 
chair was  at  the  table's  upper  end,  where  were  writ- 
ing materials,  a  small  auctioneer's  hammer,  a 
telephone  standard,  a  kind  of  ballot-box,  a  wine 
glass  containing  a  few  fresh  green  grass-blades  and 
a  little  brass  bell.  Presently  a  trap-door  in  the  floor 
lifted.  A  shaggy  head  butted  it  up,  and  the  thick- 
set person  to  whom  the  head  belonged,  moved  to  the 
chair  at  the  table-head  and  sat  heavily  down  in  it. 
As  he  did  so,  every  other  person  in  the  room 
rose  up. 

The  man  now  occupying  the  Windsor  chair  was 
known  to  everybody  present,  and  to  nobody.  He 
had  no  name  amongst  Social  Revolutionaries  other 
than  "The  Bell."  "The  Bat"  would  have  been 
a  more  appropriate  pseudonym  for  the  mysterious 
shaggy  man  in  the  shabby  clothing.  Possessed 
by  the  colossal  ambition  of  seeing  the  world's  exist- 
ing social  fabric  overthrown  and  replaced  by 
anarchical  conditions,  this  individual  passed  his 
life  in  strenuous  movement,  ceaseless  agitation,  un- 
sleeping toil,  unremitting  vigilance.  Constantly 
disappearing,  to  reappear  suddenly  in  some  un- 
expected quarter,  he  flitted  from  Paris  to  London, 
from  London  to  Berlin,  thence  to  the  Russian 
capital  or  Vienna  or  Prague,  thence  to  Rome, 
Madrid,  or  Calamaria,  the  torment  of  the  espions 
of  the  world's  secret  services,  the  despair  of  the 
police. 


30       THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 

He  rang  his  bell,  and  a  screen  was  pulled  over 
the  street  light.  The  jets  of  the  T  leaped  hissing 
into  brilliance,  revealing  a  seated  company. 

Proceedings  began  with  a  report  of  progress 
covering  the  active  propaganda  of  the  past  five 
years.  In  breathless  silence  the  revolutionaries 
listened  as  the  deep-voiced  "  Bell  "  rose  to  read  out 
the  record.  He  grew  livid  as  he  proceeded.  Great 
drops  of  perspiration  started  upon  his  bulging  fore- 
head to  course  down  his  purple  cheeks.  His  blood- 
shot eyes  projected  from  their  orbits,  and  he 
wrenched  at  the  dirty  red  handkerchief  fastened  in 
a  singular  knot  about  his  bull-throat  as  though  he 
were  suffocating.  When  the  record  ended — 

"Oh,  my  children!"  he  groaned  forth  in  tones 
of  deep  rumbling  bass.  "What  a  falling  off  is 
here !  Save  a  few  petty  acts  of  punishment,  some 
isolated  and  unimpressive  strikes,  what  has  been 
achieved  in  the  world  during  the  last  three  years 
towards  the  attainment  of  the  vast  ideals  of  Social 
Revolution  ?  The  propaganda  by  deed  has  dwindled 
into  mere  sabotage,  anti-militarism,  and  the  dis- 
semination of  the  articles  of  our  great  and  glorious 
Neo-Ethical  Code — not  by  terrible  and  magnificent 
acts,  which  the  ignorant  term  crimes,  but  by 
lecturers  who  refresh  themselves  between  the  clauses 
with  sips  from  a  glass  of  water.  A  little  longer— 
a  few  years  more,  unhappy  children — and  all  that 
I  have  endured,  laboured,  suffered,  will  have  been 
in  vain  !  Social  Revolution  will  be  preached  from 


pulpits  with  velvet  cushions,  enforced  with  squirts 
filled  with  rosewater,  instead  of  bombs  packed  with 
projectiles  and  loaded  with  deadly  fulminates.  No 
Kings  will  tremble  on  their  thrones ;  no  Presidents 
become  prematurely  white-haired  for  fear  of  the 
revolver,  the  stiletto,  or  the  shattering  bomb.  Alas  ! 
my  children " 

Sobs  choked  the  utterance  of  "The  Bell,"  and  a 
dull  murmur  filled  the  crowded  basement  room, 
intensifying  until  the  mutterings  of  a  storm  seemed 
to  beat  upon  the  grimy  whitewashed  walls. 

Ringing  for  silence,  their  great  leader  continued, 
recapitulating  in  swift  trenchant  sentences  the 
triumphs  of  the  past.  He  described  with  impas- 
sioned eloquence  the  glorious  death  of  the  last 
sublime  martyrs  who  perished  for  the  Cause  in 
January,  1910,  in  the  conflagration  in  Sidney 
Street,  Mile  End,  and  to  arrest  whom  a  platoon 
of  Scots  Guards  from  the  Tower,  three  detachments 
of  City  police,  and  half  a  battery  of  Royal  Horse 
Artillery,  with  three  guns,  were  called  ineffectively 
to  the  spot.  He  shed  tears  of  pure  admiration  and 
reverence  upon  the  grave  of  Emile  Landry,  the 
Paris  bomb-thrower,  as  upon  the  tomb  of  the  noble 
Kotuku  of  Tokio  and  his  mistress,  San  Amabashi, 
the  parents  of  communistic  anarchism  in  Japan, 
who  had  plotted  the  Mikado's  death  in  1908  and 
suffered  capital  punishment  by  being  sawn  asunder. 

He  painted  the  stirring  scenes  of  republican 
revolution  in  Portugal,  and  thrilled  his  hearers  with 


32       THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 

a  fervently-expressed  tribute  to  Manoel  Buicci  and 
Alfredo  Costa,  the  assassins  of  the  King  and  the 
Crown  Prince.  He  went  back  to  the  Barcelona 
riots,  strewed  green  laurels  on  the  grave  of  Feuer, 
and  described  the  outrage  of  the  Calle  Riosa, 
Donda,  when  Alejandro  Mayor  threw  a  bomb  at 
the  Crown  coach  on  the  occasion  of  the  King's 
wedding,  as  a  poetic  and  beautiful  dream  of  revenge 
upon  a  tyrant,  unhappily  frustrated  by  Fate,  for 
though  fifteen  unimportant  persons  had  been  killed 
and  a  score  or  so  injured,  the  King  and  his  bride 
had  escaped  with  a  scratch  or  so.  His  hearers  wept 
with  him  as  he  described  the  suicide  of  Alejandro 
Mayor,  who  shot  a  rural  guard  who  tried  to  arrest 
him  fourteen  miles  from  the  scene  of  the  outrage, 
and  then  turning  his  Browning  pistol  upon  him- 
self, cried:  "This  for  one  who  has  failed!"  and, 
pulling  the  lever,  died. 

"Sleep,  sleep  for  all  time,  oh,  our  brother!" 
"The  Bell"  concluded;  "for  the  lesson  of  thy 
glorious  endeavour  and  thy  heroic  exit  is  not  lost. 
A  man  will  arise  who,  guided  by  thy  example  and 
animated  by  thy  spirit,  will  not  fail  us  !  Were  I 
younger  in  years  I  would  unflinchingly  take  the 
duty  upon  myself.  Even  now  I — Shade  of  Caserio  ! 
What's  that?" 

Footsteps  had  thudded  over  the  wired  glass  of 
the  basement-light;  there  was  a  knocking  at  the 
outer  door.  Now  the  sound  of  trampling  on  the 
outer  stair  caused  the  venerable  "Bell"  to  leap 


THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK       33 

from  his  chair,  pocket  his  bell  and  sheaf  of  papers, 
and  promptly  vanish  down  the  trap-door.  Three 
heavy  knocks  upon  the  door  threw  the  assembled 
delegates  into  horrible  confusion.  Some  wrestled 
with  the  trap-door,  which  "The  Bell"  had  bolted 
behind  him,  and  which  communicated  via  the 
cellars  with  an  exit  into  Soho.  Yet  others  slid 
back  a  sooty  square  of  sheet-iron  protecting  the 
wall  behind  the  stove-pipe,  which,  moving  in 
grooves,  disclosed  a  hiding-place  large  enough  to 
conceal  three  or  four  men.  While  these  fought  to 
be  first  in,  more  unyielding  spirits  produced  re- 
volvers, daggers,  or  stiletti,  or  pastilles  of  deadly 
poison  contained  in  tubes  and  carried  upon  the 
person,  thus  providing  the  certain  means  of  escape 
from  the  clutches  of  the  Law.  Nobody  swallowed  one 
of  these  bonbons,  or  pricked  his  bosom  with  a  point,  or 
drew  a  trigger,  thus  proving  the  love  of  life  occa- 
sionally stronger  than  the  tenets  of  the  Neo-Ethical 
code.  But  when  the  pass- word  of  the  night  was 
harshly  and  repeatedly  bellowed  through  the  key- 
hole, the  revolutionaries  mustered  courage  to  un- 
lock the  door  of  ingress,  which  was  of  stout  teak- 
wood  strengthened  with  sheet-iron. 

"Hombre!"  said  a  Southern  voice  as  a  man 
wrapped  in  a  dark  mantle  entered  the  stuffy  base- 
ment. "  But  you  stink  infernally  here!" 

And  discarding  his  black  ca-pa  somewhat  theatri- 
cally, he  folded  his  arms  upon  his  bosom,  and  con- 
founded a  majority  among  the  anarchists,  whose 

3 


34       THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 

black  eyes  and  swarthy  skins  proclaimed  them 
Dondese  of  the  land  of  Donda,  with  the  heartily- 
hated  person  of  their  own  Most  Catholic  King. 


V. 

A  moment  of  stupefaction  ensued.  Then  a  babel 
of  shouts,  curses,  and  execrations,  the  more  appal- 
ling by  being  uttered  in  semi-stifled  tones,  broke 
out  about  the  immovable  intruder. 

"  Himmelkreiitzbombenelement!  It  is  he  !  It  is 
he  of  Donda!" 

"  Death  !    Death  to  Aldobrando  II. !" 

"  Kaput  to  the  puppet  of  monarch  ism  !" 

"  Kill  the  pupil  of  the  priests  !  Ab basso !  Male- 
dizione!" 

"Kill  him  here  and  now!  Carajol  Is  he  not 
already  sentenced?" 

"  Mori,  mort  aux  rois!    Conspuez  le  tyran!" 

A  piercing  voice  made  itself  heard  through  the 
snarling  of  those  wolves  and  jackals.  A  pale  young 
woman,  with  brilliant  grey  eyes,  one  of  the  Heads 
of  Centres  distinguished  by  a  seat  at  the  President's 
table,  thrust  herself  between  Don  Enrique  and  his 
assailants,  crying,  in  a  piercing  tone  : 

"  Comrades,  you  are  in  error  !  Do  you  not  know 
that  the  King  of  Donda  has  a  double  ?  This  is  not 
Aldobrando,  but  the  sardine-seller's  son  !" 

At  which  "The  Bell,"  who  had  reappeared  un- 
noticed, pushing  his  way  through  the  press  of 


THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK       35 

bodies,  thrust  his  bloated  face  near  that  of  Don 
Enrique,  and  sternly  regarding  him  with  his  fierce 
bloodshot  eyes,  said  briefly  : 

"Comrades,  this  comrade  of  ours  is  right.  'Tis 
only  the  mannequin!" 

And  as  a  burst  of  jeering  laughter  cleared  the  air 
of  electricity,  he  added,  turning  to  the  young 
woman  : 

"You,  comrade,  will  give  us  your  number  and 
group." 

The  young  woman  confronted  the  speaker  and 
answered  boldly  : 

"Number  11,339,  Executive  Centre  13,  War- 
saw." 

An  electrical  shock  of  excitement  volted  through 
the  assemblage,  and  "The  Bell,"  opening  his 
shaggy  arms,  said  commandingly  : 

"  Embrace  me,  daughter  of  Theodor  Levinski  I" 

When  the  girl  had  obeyed,  with  palpable  shrink- 
ing from  the  osculation,  he  returned  to  the  Presi- 
dential chair  and  said,  ringing  for  silence  : 

"Now  then,  comrades,  let  us  be  getting  on. 
Meanwhile,  let  this  fellow  be  kept  under  observa- 
tion ;  we  will  deal  with  him  by  and  by." 

While  Don  Enrique's  hand  was  lightly  touched 
by  warm  lips  in  a  swift  kiss,  and  the  pale  girl,  as 
she  raised  her  head,  whispered,  barely  audibly, 
meeting  the  man's  flashing  glance  of  thanks  with 
a  look  of  passionate  regard  : 

"  Caballero,  I  have  paid  part  of  my  debt.     This 


36       THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 

is  the  hand  that  saved  myself  and  my  dearest  father 
from  the  burning  railway-carriage  a  year  ago.  You 
cannot  have  forgotten  that  accident  to  the  Bordeaux- 
Orleans  express?" 

Don  Enrique  could  not  possibly  have  forgotten 
what  he  had  never  experienced.  He  bowed  his  head, 
gently  looking  in  the  face  of  the  beautiful  revolu- 
tionary, whose  lustrous  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

"It  was  between  Angouleme  and  Poitiers;  the 
engine  and  eight  carriages  were  derailed  and  burn- 
ing. But  for  you  we  should  have  perished  horribly, ' ' 
continued  the  girl,  "and  the  extremists  of  the 
Social  Revolutionary  party  would  have  suffered 
frightful  loss  in  the  death  of  my  father.  He  is 
Theodor  Levinski,  author  of  the  'Catechism  of 
Anarchy  '  and  the  chemist  inventor  of  the  new 
fulminate."  Her  grey  eyes  glowed  as  she  con- 
tinued proudly:  "The  T.L.  that  has  never  been 
known  to  fail.  No  great  deed  of  terrorism  under- 
taken by  its  aid  has  fallen  short  of  the  expectations 
of  its  undertakers.  The  bomb  of  the  Calle  Riosa 
at  Donda  in  1906  was  the  first  engine  of  revolu- 
tionary justice  to  testify  to  its  marvellous  powers. 
Since  then  the  explosion  at  the  Rue  Fortune"  in 
Paris  in  1908,  where  thirteen  persons  suffered 
wounds  and  an  enemy  of  Social  Revolution  suffered 
the  extreme  penalty, — the  execution  of  Signer  Valli- 
clera  outside  the  Italian  Consulate  at  Zurich  in 
1910,  the  acts  of  justice  performed  at  Vera  Cruz, 
Montevideo,  Santiago  in  Chile,  and  at  Buenos 


THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK       37 

Ayres  in  1912  and  1913,  not  mentioned  to-night  by 
our  great  President,  but  each  attended  by  destruc- 
tion of  property,  loss  of  blood,  and  death  of  persons 
inimical  to  extremists, — have  testified  to  its  superi- 
ority over  fulminate  of  mercury  and  even  picric  acid; 
and,  thanks  to  you,  Senor  Don  Enrique,  my  father 
lives  to  improve,  if  possible,  upon  this  great  and 
marvellous  discovery."  Tears  choked  her  voice  as 
she  added  :  "  I  shall  never  forget  how  you  appeared 
in  my  eyes,  when,  with  a  cut  upon  your  cheek,  un- 
heeded though  bleeding,  your  hands  blistered  and 
your  clothes  scorched  by  the  fire,  you  broke  the  bar 
and  the  carriage-window  and  dragged  us  both  out. 
Then,  though  it  was  cold  that  night,  you  stripped 
off  your  overcoat  to  cover  my  father,  and  divided 
with  us  your  sandwiches  and  the  brandy  in  your 
flask.  Your  wrist  was  badly  burned,  I  remember, 
and  I  bandaged  it  for  you  with  a  handkerchief. 

Has  the  burn  left  a  scar?    One  would " 

"  Senorita,"  said  Don  Enrique  rather  awkwardly, 
"what  I  did  was  absolutely  nothing!"  And  he 
spoke  with  complete  veracity,  because  he  had  never 
in  his  life  performed  a  deed  of  heroism.  But  his 
Southern  quickness  of  perception  warned  him  not 
to  forfeit,  at  the  expense  of  a  slight  terminological 
inexactitude,  his  hold  upon  the  plank  that  had 
saved  him  from  shipwreck,  and  he  ended:  "For 
the  scar  upon  my  wrist,  it  has  healed  so  completely 
that  you  would  say  there  had  never  been  a  burn. 
I  cannot  claim  for  my  heart  the  same  immunity,  for 


38       THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 

it  has  never  recovered  from  the  deep  wound  dealt  by 
your  beautiful  eyes  1" 

He  spoke  the  truth  about  the  eyes  of  Mademoiselle 
Levinski,  for  they  were  lodestars  that  had  quickened 
many  a  susceptible  anarchist  to  death.  They  re- 
garded him  now  with  an  expression  that  could  bear 
but  one  interpretation ;  and  the  secret  conviction 
that  it  was  the  King  of  Donda  who  had  uncon- 
sciously furthered  the  aims  of  the  extreme  terrorists 
by  preserving  Theodor  Levinski  for  the  discovery 
of  even  more  terrible  chemical  combinations  than 
the  T.L.  fulminate,  and  in  so  doing  had  won  the 
heart  of  Mademoiselle  Levinski,  whetted  the  blade 
of  his  hatred  to  a  keener  edge  than  of  yore. 

But  "The  Bell"  was  addressing  him,  and  in  the 
crowded  basement,  full  of  fetid  exhalations,  while 
the  incandescent  burners  purred  and  hissed  under 
the  dirty  ceiling,  and  the  eyes  of  the  delegates  were 
fastened  upon  the  speaker,  "El  Mozo"  told  his 
tale  of  wrong  and  unfolded  his  plan  of  revenge. 

In  that  exhausted  atmosphere  his  dullish  brain 
seemed  to  quicken,  his  limited  intellect  to  develop, 
his  mind  to  grasp,  his  purpose  to  consolidate. 
What  he  suggested  would  be,  if  carried  out,  a  coup 
of  wonderful  effectiveness,  a  triumph  for  Social 
Revolutionaries  all  the  world  over.  A  crowned 
anarchist,  an  extreme  terrorist  reigning  as  a  consti- 
tutional monarch,  that  is  what  the  consummation 
of  Don  Enrique's  suddenly  conceived  plan  would 
amount  to,  if  it  could  be  carried  out.  And  its 


THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK       39 

astonishing  simplicity  made  it  possible  to  carry 
out.  It  was  practicable  in  the  extreme.  When 
Don  Enrique  had  finished,  a  spontaneous  burst  of 
applause  betokened  the  approbation  of  the  an- 
archists, and  "The  Bell,"  rising  to  his  feet,  pro- 
posed the  immediate  initiation  of  the  neophyte,  and 
the  administration  of  the  oath. 

Upon  a  blade  of  grass,  taken  frc .-»  the  wine- 
glass that  stood  beside  the  president's  h  Vpot,  that 
terrible  formula  was  recited. 

"Acknowledging  no  Deity,"  said  the  deep 
muffled  tones  of  "The  Bell,"  "we,  the  Children 
of  Social  Revolution,  take  our  great  oath  of  obedi- 
ence to  the  sacred  statutes  of  our  rode  upon  the 
commonest  and  most  insignificant  work  of  Nature. 
Behold  our  emblem  in  this  blade  of  grass.  Tread 
it  under  an  iron  heel,  it  will  spring  up  again  ;  eradi- 
cate it  with  salt,  burn  it  with  fire,  it  will  be  re-sown 
by  the  birds  and  the  winds,  and  re-clothe  the  barren 
field.  It  flourishes  upon  the  dung-heap ;  it  thrives 
upon  the  dust  of  peasants,  soldiers,  kings  and 
statesmen ;  it  covers  with  its  green  carpet  of  forget- 
fulness  the  levelled  ruins  of  empires  and  the 
scattered  ashes  of  republics,  blotting  out  with  rank 
luxuriance  the  mounds  that  were  once  monuments 
of  men  who  forged  chains,  and  made  scourges  and 
burdens  of  laws  and  customs,  tithes  and  penalties 
with  which  to  fetter,  cow,  and  crush  their  fellow- 
men  into  the  slavery  that  is  indifferently  called 
constitution,  monarchy,  dominion,  federation, 


40       THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 

union,  state.  Take  now,  repeating  after  me,  the 
oath  of  the  Social  Revolutionary  upon  this  blade 
of  grass." 

It  was  taken.     Don  Enrique  Zabalza  received  his 
number  and  was  affiliated  to  his  group. 


VI. 

He  was  thenceforth,  upon  his  own  initiative,  and 
at  his  own  suggestion,  committed  to  a  strenuous 
mode  of  life.  Social  Revolutionaries,  who  were  at 
the  same  time  masters  of  science  in  all  its  branches 
—  chiefly  moral,  political,  legal,  mathematical, 
ethnological,  chemical,  military — took  him  in  hand 
and  crammed  him.  His  flesh  was  reduced  by 
drilling  and  physical  exercises;  his  somewhat 
vulgar  accent  corrected  by  skilled  teachers  of  elocu- 
tion ;  his  dress  and  deportment,  in  like  degree, 
underwent  a  painstaking  and  complete  revision. 
Need  it  be  hinted  that  the  likeness  of  Don  Enrique 
to  the  King  of  Donda  grew  even  more  remarkable 
under  this  regime? 

In  the  autumn  of  that  year  the  cataclysm  of  War 
broke  upon  us.  Front  after  front  burst  into  flame. 
One  saw  the  world  on  fire.  Donda,  being  a  neutral 
country,  suffered  nothing  more  severe  than  scarcity 
of  salt-fish  and  other  popular  comestibles  and  com- 
modities customarily  imported,  and  a  superfluity 
of  influenza  bacilli  imported  from  Northern  Man- 
churia via  France.  Money  also  was  scarce,  though 


THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK       41 

that  is  nothing  new  in  Donda.  San  Silvestro's  two 
annual  seasons  were  the  pale  ghosts  of  what  they 
had  been,  and  the  Teatro  without  the  Paris 
companies  was  undeniably  dull. 

But  with  the  victory  of  the  Allies  and  the  proclam- 
ation of  peace,  gaiety  returned  to  San  Silvestro. 
That  summer  season  following  the  rigours  and 
privations  of  War  was  of  memorable,  marvellous 
beauty,  the  sky  at  dawn  and  sunset,  jade-green 
between  its  reefs  and  lagoons  of  glowing  orange  or 
fiery  carnation ;  the  silver-surfed  Bahia  lipping  on 
its  snow-white  sands;  and  roses,  climbing  every- 
where, covering  the  balconies  of  the  elegant  garden- 
villas,  draping  the  pillars,  smothering  pergolas  and 
hedges  with  beauty,  and  drenching  the  whole 
countryside  with  intoxicating  perfume. 

One  day  towards  the  close  of  summer,  the  long- 
closed  shutters  of  the  Villa  of  the  Peacock  were 
thrown  open.  Whitewashers  and  painters  reno- 
vated the  exterior  of  the  dwelling  and  departed, 
women  with  pattens  and  pails  and  scrubbing- 
brushes  polished  up  the  marble  doorsteps  and 
cleansed  the  floors  of  the  loggias,  and  washed  the 
swallow-droppings  of  years  from  the  balconies. 
The  winding  avenues  of  cork-trees  and  live-oaks 
was  scraped  and  regravelled ;  the  garden,  a  wild 
tangle  of  beauty  and  luxuriance,  sparingly  trimmed. 
New  draperies  and  laces  were  hung  at  the  gleam- 
ing windows,  the  great  majolica  peacock  shone 
dazzling  in  the  sun.  Wicker  chairs  and  lounges 


42       THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 

appeared  upon  the  lawns.  A  Mexican  hammock 
was  hung  under  the  rose-pergola,  the  long-silent 
fountain  in  the  midst  of  it  now  awakened  from  its 
sleep  of  years,  and  gambolled,  sparkling  in  the  sun. 

"The  Villa  is  let,"  remarked  people  who  did  not 
know  its  story.  "  Or  sold,  possibly?"  they  added, 
shrugging. 

"It  is  neither  sold  nor  let,"  said  other  people 
who  were  older  residents,  "because  Don  Enrique, 
whom  the  folk  of  the  puerta  call  'El  Mozo,'  is  still 
alive.  They  say  he  swore  upon  his  soul  that  the 
shutters  should  never  again  be  opened,  nor  a  chair 
stirred  from  its  place  on  the  floor  until " 

Nobody  finished  the  sentence  save  under  their 
breath.  It  had  a  sinister  tag. 

Presently  San  Silvestro  was  convulsed  to  the 
core  through  the  posting  of  huge  red-and-yellow 
anuncios  outside  the  Raqueta  Club  grounds  near 
the  aerodrome.  A  tarja  of  steel,  heavily  dama- 
scened with  gold,  presented  by  the  King,  was  to  be 
played  for  by  picked  teams  from  the  two  local  clubs, 
San  Silvestro  Old  Town  against  The  Nobles,  for 
Dondese  blue  blood  may  hit  a  ball  in  emulation  of 
a  plebeian,  with  whom  it  may  not  engage  in  a  bout 
of  foils. 

A  famous  foreign  champion,  naturalised  a 
Frenchman,  but  a  Dondese  and  native  of  San 
Silvestro,  was  to  play  for  the  Old  Town.  Senor 
Don  Enrique  Zabalza  y  Cade"ra  (Cade"ra  having 
been  the  surname  of  dead  Teresa)  availed  himeslf 


THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK       43 

with  great  pleasure,  of  the  opportunity  of  renewing 
old  relations,  placed  at  his  disposal  by  consent  of 
the  authorities  under  the  high  approval  of  H.M. 
the  King. 

Judge  if  the  liveliest  city  on  the  western  seaboard 
did  not  buzz  like  a  stirred-up  beehive.  That  the 
King  should  have  removed  the  ban  of  exile  after 
all  these  years  from  his  unlucky  simulacrum  was 
not  so  extraordinary.  No ;  but,  by  a  thousand 
devils!  "El  Mozo's"  acceptance  of  the  royal 
olive-branch  —  that  was  the  unlikely,  unexpected 
thing. 

With  his  characteristic  shrinking  from  publicity 
the  exile  had  elected  to  travel  by  air  from  Paris. 
The  consent  of  the  military  and  municipal  authori- 
ties having  been  obtained,  the  military  guards 
upon  the  frontier  forts  having  been  warned  not  to 
fire  at  the  avion, — a  twin-engined  "  Gourdon " 
aerobus,  piloted  by  no  lesser  star  than  Suiza,  now 
demobilised  from  the  French  Service  Aeronautique, 
descended  one  mellow  evening  upon  the  carefully- 
kept  greensward  of  San  Silvestro's  aerodrome. 
And  amidst  the  loud  vivas  of  the  Old  Town  and  the 
discreeter  greetings  of  the  nobles,  Don  Enrique 
Zabalza,  attired  in  the  latest  mode  appropriate  to 
air  travel,  his  marvellous  likeness  to  the  King  much 
tempered  by  a  pointed  beard,  stepped  down,  con- 
gratulated his  pilot  with  a  cordial  hand-grasp,  and 
assisted  a  lady,  as  well-groomed  as  himself,  to 
descend  from  the  passenger-cabin. 


44       THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 

Hearts  were  lost  to  Senora  Zabalza  before  the 
arrivals  entered  the  automobile  that  waited  to 
convey  them  to  the  Villa  of  the  Peacock.  She  was 
svelte,  with  marvellous  eyes,  hair,  and  hands,  and 
attired  in  the  latest  Parisian  combination  of  furs 
and  gossamer.  As  for  Don  Enrique — 

"  H ombre!"  said  one  man  to  another  man.  "  He 
would  be  more  like  the  King  than  the  King  is  like 
himself,  had  he  not  that  English  naval  officer's 
beard  upon  his  chin.  Shave  it,  and  set  them  up 
together  side-by-side,  naked  as  their  mothers  bore 
them,  and  tell  me  who  would  distinguish  between 
them?  Not  I  for  one!" 

Both  were  Pressmen  attached  to  two  of  the  local 
journals,  one  so  mildly  Liberal,  the  other  so  gently 
Conservative,  that  it  was  as  difficult  to  distinguish 
the  politics  of  one  from  another  as  it  is  to  tell  a 
green  fig  from  a  fig  that  is  green.  Both  men  were 
greasy  about  the  collar  and  lapels,  and  shiny  as  to 
the  cuffs ;  both  were  married  and  had  olive  branches  ; 
and  both  were  naturally  on  the  look-out  for  any  fat 
worm  that  might  be  carried  home  to  the  family  nest. 
Not  finding  admission  to  the  Velodrome  easy,  they 
had  elected  to  wait  for  Don  Enrique  on  the  door- 
steps of  the  Villa  of  the  Peacock. 

"  Caramba!  I  should  have  no  difficulty,"  re- 
turned the  second  Pressman,  "unless  Don  Enrique 
should  bear  upon  the  inner  side  of  his  right  forearm 
the  scar  of  a  burn  such  as  the  King's.  How  do  I 
know  His  Majesty  has  such  a  scar,  covered  always 


THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK       45 

by  a  broad  gold  bracelet  of  four  rows  of  curb-chain, 
linked  to  an  upright  bar  ?  Perhaps  the  Queen  gave 
it  to  him,  quien  sabe?  But  hombre!  as  regards  the 
scar,  a  muneca  derecho,  two  years  ago,  when  Aldo- 
brando  played  polo  on  the  Club  ground  of  the  Caza- 
deros,  and  was  unhorsed — you  remember? — the 
bracelet  flew  off  and  the  Marque's  Muntarian  picked 
it  up  and  gave  it  back  to  him.  But  not  before  I, 
standing  outside  the  palizadas,  had  seen  with  these 
eyes !" 

Throughout  this  little  colloquy  Zabalza  had  been 
engaged  as  becomes  an  attentive  husband.  He  had, 
after  some  brief  directions  to  the  chauffeur  of  the 
car,  hired  from  the  best  garage  in  San  Silvestro, 
assisted  Madame  de  Zabalza  to  descend;  he  had 
led  the  lady  up  the  doorsteps,  upon  which  he  had 
deposited  their  lightish  travelling-valises ;  and  now 
was  engaged  in  fitting  a  latch-key,  bright  with  con- 
stant chain-wear,  into  the  old  and  tarnished  lock. 
He  had  not  overheard  the  words,  though  they  had 
been  spoken  loudly,  and  accompanied  by  vivacious 
gestures.  But  the  Senora's  beautiful  jewelled  ears 
had  drunk  in  every  sound.  She  was  very  pale  as 
she  bowed  graciously  in  return  for  the  salutations 
offered  by  the  Pressmen,  for  whose  retreat  Don 
Enrique  pointedly  waited  before  opening  the  newly- 
painted  hall-door. 

"  Senors,"  thus  he  addressed  them,  in  soft  tones 
of  deprecation  and  employing  terms  of  almost 
Oriental  politeness,  "  I  could  not  consent  to  thrust 


46       THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 

my  miserable  affairs  more  intrusively  upon  your 
notice  by  inviting  you  to  cross  the  threshold  of  this 
unworthy  house.  Condescend  to  put  in  motion  the 
extremities  with  which  an  all-wise  Providence  has 
endowed  you.  Deign  to  remove  your  distinguished 
individualities,  for  until  you  do  so — this  dwelling 
is  without  a  door!"  A  moment  later,  when  the 
pressmen  had  de  mala  gana  conveyed  themselves 
down  the  cork-tree  avenue  in  the  wake  of  the  re- 
treating auto,  and  were  well  out  of  sight,  "Enter, 
Ilona,  soul  of  me!"  said  Don  Enrique,  and,  pick- 
ing up  the  travelling-valises,  ushered  Madame  into 
the  hall. 


VII. 

The  broad  carved  leaves  of  the  door  of  beautiful 
dappled  grenadilla  wood  shut  heavily  behind  the 
couple,  and  Zabalza  securely  bolted  them  before  he 
spoke.  And  then  it  was  with  a  changed  and  nasal 
tone,  hard  and  harshly  consonantal,  from  which 
with  the  first  musty  whiff  of  the  odours  of  the  long- 
sealed  dwelling,  the  tripping  graces  of  an  acquired 
French  accent  had  suddenly  been  blown  away. 

"This  hall  typifies  my  heart,"  Don  Enrique  said 
to  Madame.  "The  labours  of  painters,  bricklayers 
and  scrubb ing-women  have  begun  and  ended  with 
the  exterior.  Within  all  is  as  death  found  and  left 
it  eighteen  years  before.  See  here" — and  he 
pointed  to  the  altar  without  which  no  Catholic 


THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK       47 

house  in  Donda  is  held  to  be  complete.    The  black 
frontal  with  the  white  Cross,  that  had  been  hung 
there  for  the  funeral  rites  of  Abramo  by  the  tremb- 
ling hands  of  widowed  Donna  Teresa,  had  served 
less  than  a  fortnight  later  for  her  own.    The  brown 
wax  candles  in  the  tall  wooden  candlesticks  yet  re- 
mained, though  nibbled  by  mice,  the  brass  thurible 
tarnished  by  years  of  neglect,  lay  on  the  right  of 
the  shallow  wooden  steps  covered  by  a  dusty  black 
carpet,  with  a  little  pile  of  spilled  grey  ashes  at  its 
lip.     The  holy  water  had  dried  in  the  font  on  the 
left  of  the  door,  leaving  a  few  crystals  of  salt  in  the 
dust   at    the   bottom,    the    ruddy    sunset    filtering 
through  the  dusty  hall  skylight  made  a  broad  pool 
of  crimson  on  the  long-un waxed  parquet.   Through 
this  the  couple  moved  to  the  door  at  the  far  end  of 
the  vestibule.  When  it  opened  to  the  master's  hand, 
the  odour  of  a  dwelling  long-sealed  was  somewhat 
tempered  by  the  aromatic  odour  of  the  tall  cabinets 
of  carved  camphor-wood  ranged  about  the  tapestried 
walls  of  dead  Teresa's  drawing-room,  where  her 
work-table  stood  open,  the  rusty  needle  yet  in  the 
mildewed  embroidery,  dropped,  it  may  have  been, 
when   Fate's   knock   sounded  on   the   door.     Her 
portrait  and  her  husband's  and  that  of  their  son, 
looked  down  from  tarnished  frames  upon  Zabalza's 
tragic  entrance,  and  long  French  windows  revealed 
the  glory  of  the  garden,   full   of   tulip-trees  and 
stately  palms  and  rioting  roses,   and  jasmine  in 
prodigal  opulence,  wreathing  the  balcony  with  its 


48       THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 

white-blossomed  twisting  branches,  and  climbing 
to  the  tops  of  the  tallest  trees.  Here,  at  the  end 
of  a  table,  was  spread  a  white  cloth  with  covers  for 
two,  a  decanter  of  Dondese  wine,  and  some  kind  of 
a  cold  collation,  which  both  sorely  needed. 

"  To  the  memory  of  my  father  and  mother,  whose 
portraits  look  down  upon  their  son,"  said  Zabalza 
as  he  filled  the  glasses.  "  At  the  very  threshold  of 
revenge  upon  their  crowned  murderer."  He  rose 
and  emptied  the  glass,  and  broke  it  upon  the  marble 
hearthstone,  where,  in  recognition  of  the  chills  of 
the  evening,  wood  crackled  aromatically  in  the 
silvered  steel  basket,  and  Ilona  Levinski  followed 
his  example  after  touching  the  wine  with  her  pale 
lips.  "  If  you  would  prefer  coffee,  Mademoiselle," 
said  Don  Enrique,  when  the  meal  was  finished,  "  it 
can  be  supplied  you  instantly.  Empty  as  it 
appears,  we  are  not  alone  in  this  house.  I  have 
had  a  guest-room  prepared  for  your  convenience, 
and  there  is  a  woman,  the  wife  of  one  of  the  Revolu- 
tionary Brotherhood,  who  will  attend  you  at  your 
wish.  I  sleep  with  my  memories,  and  my  hopes, 
in  the  bed  that  was  my  mother's,  where  I  made  my 
first  entrance  upon  the  scene  of  this  world." 

"  I  thank  you,  Senor  Don  Enrique,  for  the  con- 
sideration you  have  shown  me,"  said  Mademoiselle 
Levinski  as  her  host  pulled  a  bell-rope,  evoking  a 
rusty  tinkle  in  the  basement  of  the  house;  "but  I 
need  no  protection,  who  have  braved  so  many  perils 
side  by  side  with  my  comrades,  nor  do  I  care  for 


THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK       49 

comforts  who  have  existed  upon  crusts.  An  Ex- 
tremist can  bear  extremes — for  a  Terrorist  there  are 
no  terrors." 

"  You  treat  me  as  a  neophyte  still,"  said  Zabalza, 
looking  gloomily  upon  her,  an  enthralling  vision 
in  her  transparent  draperies,  tinged  with  the  rose 
of  the  dying  sunset,  illumined  by  the  wax  tapers 
burning  in  tarnished  silver  candelabra,  whose  radi- 
ance wakened  the  fires  of  her  diamonds,  and  was 
reflected  in  her  luminous  bronze-coloured  eyes. 
"Your  tone  is  that  of  the  teacher  to  the  student. 
I  am  ready  to  admit  that  when  I  demanded  of  the 
Extreme  Council  that  you  should  be  my  associate 
in  this  affair,  the  passion  you  inspired  in  me  at  the 
moment  of  our  meeting  was  the  real  reason  of  the 
request." 

A  slight  noise  behind  Don  Enrique  made  him 
glance  over  his  shoulder  towards  the  doorway.  It 
was  only  the  woman  who  had  been  detailed  to  wait 
on  Mademoiselle,  herself  the  comrade  of  an  Anar- 
chist, who  had  entered  the  room  with  coffee  on  a 
tray,  which  she  placed  on  the  table. 

"  Campanero,"  she  said,  nodding  to  Zabalza,  "  if 
you  need  the  services  of  a  valet,  my  Jos£  is  at  hand 
and  will  serve  you  at  your  need.  For  the  pretty 
little  comrade  here  I  will  act  as  camerdra.  She  will 
ring  when  she  wants  me."  She  nodded  familiarly 
to  Mademoiselle  Levinski  and  went  out  of  the 
room. 

If  a  significant  glance  had  been  interchanged 

4 


50       THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 

between  the  women,  Don  Enrique  had  not  observed 
it.  The  waitress  was  to  him  a  nonentity,  a  mere 
screw  in  the  vast  machine  of  Anarchical  organisa- 
tion. That  she  would  act  as  a  spy,  that  within  an 
incredibly  short  space  of  time  "The  Bell"  would 
be  made  aware  that  he  had  sought  to  dupe  the 
Extreme  Council  for  the  attainment  of  his  private 
wishes,  did  not  occur  to  him  then  or  thenceafter, 
when  execution  of  the  sentence  pronounced  upon 
one  who  had  thus  incautiously  borne  testimony  to 
his  own  faithlessness  followed  with  such  dramatic 
suddenness. 

He  went  on,  folding  his  arms,  and  frowning  upon 
Mademoiselle  Levinski  like  a  second-rate  imitator 
of  Le  Bargy  in  a  provincial  company  : 

"You  smile,  Mademoiselle,  unmoved  by  my 
frank  declaration.  Is  it  because  a  woman  in  whose 
bosom  sleeps  an  automatic  revolver — who  coils  her 
hair  about  a  poisoned  arrow,  and  carries  in  her 
ring  a  capsule  of  prussic  acid,  can  have  nothing 
to  fear  from  the  passions  she  provokes?" 

Mademoiselle  Levinski  said  coldly  : 

"  A  Terrorist  has  no  passions.  I  quote  once 
more  from  the  Catechism  of  Anarchy." 

"  Ah-h-h  !"  ejaculated  Zabalza  impatiently. 

The  lips  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  were  narrow  and 
deeply  scarlet.  They  curved  a  little  in  scorn  or  in 
amusement,  and  the  faint  depression  of  a  dimple 
came  and  went  below  the  carnation  of  an  oval  cheek. 
She  was  of  that  deceptive  slenderness  so  distinctive 


THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK        51 

of  Polish  and  Hungarian  women,  her  throat  and 
bosom,  shoulders  and  arms  and  hips,  modelled  like 
those  of  some  Tanagra  Venus.  And  yet  in  her 
bodily  perfection  there  was  nothing  sensuous. 
Rather  she  suggested  a  gleaming  weapon,  wrapped, 
for  the  preservation  of  its  delicate,  murderous  edge, 
in  embroidered  silken  gauze. 

Zabalza  went  on  : 

"Have  you  forgotten  the  night  of  our  meeting 
in  London  ?  They  were  not  passionless — the  lips 
that  kissed  my  hand  !" 

Her  bronze  eyes  gleamed  as  she  retorted : 

"  It  was  the  hand  that  had  saved  my  father,  to 
achieve  fresh  triumphs  for  the  Cause.  Or  I  believed 
so."  A  jewel  on  her  bosom  scintillated  in  the 
candle-light  as  though  a  sigh  had  lifted  it,  and 
dulled  again  as  she  resumed:  "Though  you  have 
never  yet  shown  me  the  scar  left  by  the  red-hot  bar 
of  iron  upon  your  arm." 

Zabalza  exclaimed  with  a  wonderfully  convinc- 
ing accent  of  relief  and  surprise  mingled  : 

"  Caramba!     If  that  is  all  you  require " 

And  he  pulled  up  the  left  sleeve  of  his  thin  grey 
tweed  coat,  and  slipped  from  a  buttonhole  of  the 
shirt-cuff  one  of  its  shining  jewelled  buttons,  show- 
ing a  black  silk  band  secured  tightly  by  clip-studs 
about  his  wrist.  He  pulled  a  corner  of  the  silk,  and 
the  studs  left  their  slot-holes.  He  threw  the  wristlet 
into  the  corner,  and  thrust  under  Ilona  Levinski's 
eyes  his  brown  sinewy  forearm,  disfigured  by  the 


52       THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 
redness  of  a  transverse  scar  of  about  two-fingers' 

width. 

"  Now  I     Now— are  you  convinced  ?    Was  doubt 

of  me  the  barrier  between  us  ?" 

"  If  it  were,  amigo,"  said  Mademoiselle  with  a 
strange  smile  that  did  not  melt  the  ice  in  her  eyes, 
"the  barrier  is  levelled.  But  let  me  hear  no  more 
of  love— at  least  until  the  fulfilment  of  my  mission. 
I  came  here  to  personate  your  wife,  and  aid  you  to 
carry  out  your  purpose.  If  I  fail  you,  death  by 
your  hand  or  my  own  must  expiate  my  fault." 
"Yet  tell  me,"  entreated  Don  Enrique,  "had 

the  Council  been  more  explicit ?     Had  your 

instructions  been,  let  us  say,  more  precisely  and 

clearly  detailed " 

The  tips  of  Mademoiselle's  slender  fingers 
touched  his  lips  for  silence : 

"  Senor,"  she  told  him,  "  I  am  weary.  We  will 
talk  to-morrow."  To  end  his  greedy  kissing  of  the 
captured  hand  she  rang  the  bell,  summoned  the 
woman,  and  followed  her  upstairs. 

Ilona  Levinski  had  passed  the  night  in  many 
stranger  lairs  than  the  great  carved  four-post  bed 
in  the  high  guest-chamber  of  this  long-shut  house, 
with  its  tarnished  mirrors  and  dusty  oil-portraits,  its 
cobwebbed  china  and  moth-eaten  drapery. 

But  after  an  attempt  to  sleep,  Mademoiselle 
abandoned  the  attempt  as  futile.  She  was  haunted 
— not  by  fears  of  the  mice,  or  of  the  huge  spiders 
inhabiting  the  fusty  curtains,  or  by  the  strange 


THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK        53 

creaks  and  cracklings  of  wood  suffering  from  dry 
rot  or  the  attacks  of  the  insatiable  worm.  But  by 
the  vision  of  a  right  arm. 

The  right  arm  of  a  slender  young  man  with  a 
jutting  underlip,  a  young  moustache  of  sprightly 
black,  a  salient  nose  of  the  beaky  kind,  and  widely 
set,  brilliant,  chestnut-brown  eyes.  Zabalza  and  not 
Zabalza  in  four  words ;  an  hidalgo,  whereas  the  son 
of  Abramo  was  a  tradesman ;  a  grandee  of  bluest 
blood,  very  different  from  the  muddy  fluid  running 
in  the  veins  of  the  King's  double,  the  clown. 

This  right  hand  had  been  thrust  one  day  in  the 
Spring  of  1913  over  the  middle  window-bar  of  a 
burning  compartment  of  a  locked  carriage  of  the 
derailed  fore-half  of  the  Bordeaux-Orleans  Express. 
An  alert  voice  had  called  to  Ilona  through  the 
smoke  and  smother:  "Have  courage,  Mademoi- 
selle !  Help  is  coming.  We  shall  save  you ! 
Again — have  courage  and  do  not  despair!"  And 
the  slim  young  man  in  the  unobtrusive  brown 
tweeds  had  drawn  back  the  arm  in  the  scorched 
sleeve  and  sprung  up  lightly,  had  seized  a  crowbar 
from  a  bewildered  platelayer,  and  broken  out  the 
iron  bar  that  his  hissing  blood  had  cooled.  And 
after  Levinski  and  his  daughter  had  been  extricated 
from  the  carriage,  fresh  acts  of  chivalrous  kindness 
to  the  forlorn  pair — poor  Polish  emigrants  flying 
from  Russian  tyranny,  to  earn  the  bread  of  exile 
in  the  freer  land  of  France — had  cast  about  that 
comfortless  night  at  a  wayside  station  between 


54       THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 

AngouleTne  and  Poitiers  the  glamour  that  made  its 
memory  dangerously  sweet.  The  dressing  of  the 
burn  upon  his  arm  with  vaseline  from  her  travel- 
ling-bag, which  he  had  had  the  forethought  to 
rescue  when  he  extricated  her  from  the  carriage, 
the  sacrifice  of  a  cambric  handkerchief,  bearing  the 
initial  of  her  name  embroidered  by  herself  in 
her  own  hair.  .  .  .  The  meeting  of  their  hands  and 
eyes  at  parting,  the  hurried  words  breathed  in 
her  ear  :  "  Dear  Mademoiselle,  the  world  is  round, 
our  paths  may  cross  once  more.  It  has  been  the 
custom  in  my  family  for  many  generations  to  re- 
gard the  saving  of  a  human  life  as  imposing  a 
solemn  obligation  on  the  saviour.  Therefore,  if  I 
can  again  aid  or  serve  you,  send  me  the  fellow- 
handkerchief  to  this." 

Aldobrando  had  perhaps  counted  on  her  recogni- 
tion of  him  later  as  one  of  the  crowned  ones  of  the 
earth.  Or  the  words  had  been  spoken  in  mere 
flourish.  .  .  .  Oh,  no  !  she  too  well  remembered 
their  tone  and  his  expression.  .  .  .  He  was  just 
thirty,  and  had  been  married  since  1908.  And  the 
old  man  rescued  by  him  from  the  burning  carriage 
was  the  maker  of  the  bomb  thrown  by  Alejandro 
Mayor  as  the  Royal  Procession  passed  along  the 
Calle  Riosa,  Donda,  on  his  wedding-day. 

Were  he  ever  to  learn  the  truth,  how  would  he 
take  it?  Probably  jesting.  Unlike  his  sullen 
double,  Zabalza,  Aldobrando  of  Donda  took  life 
gaily.  Those  bright  brown  eyes,  those  boldly- 


THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK        55 

curving  lips  were  always  smiling.  Yes,  he  would 
laugh  if  ever  he  knew.  But  Theodor  Levinski, 
even  then  toiling  in  his  secret  laboratory  at  Warsaw 
among  vials  of  acids,  and  cylinders  of  poisonous 
gases,  crucibles  of  picrate  potash  and  tubes  of 
fulminate — how  would  he  support  the  revelation  of 
the  truth  ? 

He  had  not  yet  seen  Zabalza,  who  had  been 
rightly  dubbed  "The  Mannequin."  He  believed 
him  on  his  daughter's  assurance  to  be  the  man  who 
had  saved  his  life.  No  suspicion  of  the  fact  had 
ever  visited  the  chemist.  But  could  the  venerable 
Anarchist  have  known  his  saviour  one  of  those  men 
to  whose  removal  from  the  world  he  dedicated  his 
great  faculties  .  .  .  had  any  voice  whispered  of 
the  weakness  of  his  daughter  in  hesitating  for  one 
moment  in  the  execution  of  a  duty  to  dwell  upon 
the  memory  of  a  certain  Spring  night.  .  .  . 

Ilona  saw  her  father  stricken,  shattered,  never 
again  to  recover  from  the  overwhelming  shock. 

By  the  light  of  the  gnawed  wax  tapers  on  the 
ebony-and-ivory  toilet-table,  she  looked  at  the 
woman  reflected  in  the  tarnished  mirror,  overcame 
her  human  weakness  and  renewed  her  dreadful 
vow. 

What  had  Number  11,339,  Executive  Centre  13, 
Warsaw,  to  do  with  sentimental  memories,  bonds 
of  gratitude,  words  uttered,  glances  exchanged, 
pledges  given  or  received?  Was  she  not  like 
thousands  of  comrades  bound  by  the  oath  upon  the 


56       THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 

Blade  of  Grass  to  the  Wheel  of  Social  Revolution- 
pledged  to  devote  the  last  drop  of  blood,  the  ulti- 
mate volt  of  will-power,  the  final  breath,  to  the 
service  of  the  Cause  ? 

She  had  no  faith  in  Zabalza's  ability  or  deter- 
mination. She  had  been  disillusioned  with  regard 
to  him  wonderfully  soon.  Within  a  week  of  their 
meeting  in  London  she  had  realised  him  as  a 
nonentity.  A  man  of  straw,  swayed  by  a  personal 
hatred,  compound  of  petty  jealousy  and  vanity.  As 
for  his  mental  powers,  she  estimated  them  lightly. 
Would  a  man  of  brains  had  been  guilty  of  the 
mistake  Don  Enrique  had  committed  in  the  loca- 
tion of  the  burn  upon  the  arm  ? 

The  left  instead  of  the  right.  How  fatuous  !  An 
Extremist  of  the  genuine  type  would  never  have 
blundered  so. 

Don  Enrique  was  neither  a  conspirator  nor  a 
lover.  Were  the  King  in  his  place,  and  he  in  Aldo- 
brando's,  something  really  original  in  the  way  of 
a  plot  would  have  been  conceived  in  the  keen  brain 
behind  that  bulging  forehead  and  those  brilliant 
eyes,  and  carried  out  with  a  smile  on  the  bold 
curved  mouth,  so  like  and  yet  unlike.  .  .  . 

Zabalza's  plan,  roughly,  was  as  follows.  To  lure 
Aldobrando  of  Donda  to  the  Villa  of  the  Peacock, 
to  intimidate  him,  once  entrapped,  by  threats  of 
torture  or  death.  To  be  seized,  apparently,  with 
remorse  for  the  crime  contemplated;  to  prevail 
upon  the  Royal  victim,  with  tears  and  prayers  if 


THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK        57 

need  be,  to  change  clothes  with  him,  the  traitor, 
and  thus  disguised  (in  garments  free  from  the 
tokens  of  a  bloody  struggle)  to  escape.  At  the 
moment  of  the  King's  leaving  the  house  a  signal 
was  to  be  given  on  which  Anarchists  concealed  in 
the  avenue  were  to  assassinate  the  King. 

Later,  Zabalza  was  to  return  to  the  Palace  in  the 
Royal  character,  trusting  to  the  marvellous  re- 
semblance between  himself  and  his  murdered 
Sovereign  to  delay  the  moment  of  discovery  as  long 
as  possible.  The  safes,  cabinets  and  desks  in  Aldo- 
brando's  private  workroom  were  to  be  ransacked. 
State  documents  were  to  be  torn  up,  others  secured, 
with  all  the  valuables  obtainable,  for  theft,  like 
murder,  is  laudable  if  it  further  and  enrich  the 
Cause. 

Having  achieved  this  coup  Zabalza  was  to  escape 
under  cover  of  a  visit  to  a  Royal  shooting-box  in 
the  mountains,  and  by  devious  routes  well-known 
rejoin  <he  Extremists  at  their  centre. 

The  weak  point  of  the  plot,  so  deceiving  in  its 
cleverness,  was  clear  to  Mademoiselle.  Aldobrando 
would  never  be  coerced  or  intimidated.  .  .  .  Nor 
would  the  King  be  tempted  to  the  Villa  of  the 
Peacock  by  any  gaudy,  common  lure  Zabalza's  wit 
could  frame !  On  the  other  hand  .  .  . 

"  The  handkerchief — the  handkerchief  will  bring 
him!" 

A  low  cry  escaped  Levinski's  daughter  as  the 
thought  flashed  through  her  mind.  She  had  with 


58       THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 

her  a  handkerchief  exactly  like  that  other.    Marked 
with  a  single  initial  in  hair— the  hair  her  own. 

Strange  bait  to  catch  the  Master  of  Seven  Orders 
of  Chivalry,  the  common  cambric  handkerchief  of 
a  Polish  emigrant  girl.  But  he  had  saved  the  girl's 
life  and  that  of  her  father.  And  the  tradition  of 
his  royal  family,  since  a  King  of  Donda  had  risked 
his  life  for  a  Moorish  slave  in  the  twelfth  century, 
was  that  so  great  a  service  rendered,  constituted  a 
lifelong  claim  upon  the  deliverer.  And  yet  again 
— he  was  Aldobrando  II.  That  being  said,  there 
is  no  more  to  say. 

VIII. 

On  the  morning  of  the  following  day — that  of  the 
match  at  raqueta,  the  last  day  of  the  Mannequin's 
ineffectual  earthly  career — Mademoiselle  Levinski 
was  allowed  another  peep  at  the  interior  mechanism 
of  Fate's  poor  puppet.  He  designed  her  after  all 
for  a  part  in  the  tragi-comedy.  She  was,  with  the 
charms  Don  Enrique  found  irresistible,  to  play  the 
part  of  the  bit  of  cheese  in  the  mouse-trap  set  to 
catch  the  King. 

But  with  the  Othello-like  reservation  : 
"  Never  once  is  that  crowned  reptile  to  touch  his 
lips  to  your  lovely  cheek  !  I  am  above  all  pundon- 
oroso.  Understand — you  are  mine !  I  have  set 
upon  your  person  the  seal  of  my  choice.  When  I 
have  accomplished  this  great  act  of  retribution- 
exacted  the  vengeance  due  to  me  for  the  lives  of  my 


THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK        59 

parents — for  my  own  life,  blighted  by  his  tyranny, 
I  intend  that  you  shall  become  my  wife." 

"If  the  Supreme  Council  command  it  I  shall 

certainly  obey  the  order.  But  until  I  receive  it " 

She  measured  off  the  fortieth  of  an  inch  upon  a 
small  and  beautifully-manicured  thumb-nail.  He 
perfectly  understood. 

The  day  of  the  match  was  perfection.  America 
had  suffocated,  Paris  was  blistering,  London  was 
gasping  in  the  fervour  of  the  heat-wave  in  which 
the  Dondese  played  like  salamanders.  The  Old 
Town  in  all  its  grades  had  mustered  round  the 
raqueta  courts.  Tordros,  their  amigas  and  their 
families,  rubbed  shoulders  with  the  brown  fisher- 
folk  of  the  Puerta  and  the  sturdy  people  of  the 
Market.  Well-to-do  tradesfolk  were  mixed  up  with 
the  tag-rag  and  bobtail  of  the  bull-ring,  the 
theatres,  the  baths  and  the  Grand  Casino,  and 
shoulder-blanketed  peasants  from  mountain  villages, 
stocky  infantry  soldiers  in  striped  flannel  trousers, 
cadets  in  peaked  kdpis,  and  sallow  pupils  from  the 
religious  seminaries,  made  the  crush  more  por- 
tentous and  swelled  the  babel  of  voices  into  a 
thunderous  roar.  All  the  grand  stands  in  the  Club 
grounds  were  crowded  to  suffocation.  Judge  of  the 
piquancy  of  the  expected  sensation.  The  King  and 
Queen  were  to  be  present  to  see  El  Mozo  play.  You 
will  not  have  forgotten  Don  Enrique's  ancient  nick- 
name. You  can  conceive  it  tossed  backwards  and 
forwards  under  the  white-hot  summer  sunshine, 


60       THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 

over  the  close-packed  heads.  It  was  written  in  the 
Book  of  Fate  that  Zabalza  should  have  his  hour, 
and  be  somewhat  in  the  mouths  of  men  before  the 
curtain  fell. 

And  indeed  it  was  a  great  match  greatly  played 
and  lost  and  won  for  the  Old  Town,  under  the 
fierce  sun  that  beat  down  upon  the  courts  of  snow- 
white  sand. 

Seats  had  been  reserved  in  the  judge's  enclosure 
for  the  Royal  pair,  but  they  did  not  arrive  until 
five  o'clock,  when  the  players  had  maintained  a 
fierce  struggle  for  nearly  two  hours.  Judge  if 
Zabalza's  hate  of  Aldobrando  II.  was  not  fanned 
to  fresh  flame,  when  in  the  third  set,  played  at  a 
great  pace  by  El  Mozo,  who  had  finished  off  many 
long  rallies  with  daring  volleys,  and  taken  the 
breath  of  the  spectators  with  matchless  raqueta,  the 
band  crashed  into  the  National  Anthem,  and  a 
general  rise  and  bustle  attending  the  Royal 
entrance,  distracted  him  to  the  advantage  of  the 
nobles'  champion.  But  in  the  fourth  set  he  re- 
covered, took  service  from  30,  and  the  tarja  given 
by  the  King. 

And  as  the  sunset  flushed  the  west  with  mingled 
crimson  and  gold  like  melted  ruby  and  amber,  and 
the  evening  star  displayed  its  diamond  splendours 
over  the  silvery  point  of  the  lighthouse  on  the 
summit  of  Monte  Ceralda,  the  Old  Town,  drunk 
with  the  triumph  of  Don  Enrique,  lifted  him  high 
upon  their  shoulders,  shouting  : 


THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK        61 

"El    Mozo!      Viva    El    Mozo  I    .    .    .      Vitorl 
Vitor!" 

As  the  crowd,  surging  round  the  raqueta  ground, 
echoed  the  shout,  the  gates  of  the  Royal  private 
carriage-way  were  thrown  open,  and  a  half-squadron 
of  guardias  civiles,  magnificently  mounted,   their 
black  uniforms  new,  their  lancer-like  black  leather 
schapkas  shining  like  ebony,   charged  the  crowd 
that  congested  the  outer  thoroughfare.    Oaths  and 
exclamations,  bursts  of  laughter  and  angry  curses, 
carambas    and    carajos    mingled    with    appeals    to 
Heaven  and  the  Saints,  went  up  from  throats  of 
every  degree,  citizens  and  mudlarks,  fisher-folk  and 
soldiers,  strangers  and  habitue's  were  jammed  by 
the  sudden  charge  of  the  civiles  against  the  iron 
railings  on  either  side  of  the  roadway,  as  a  Royal 
escort    of    the   bodyguard,    big    moustached    men 
with  silver  white-plumed  helmets,  whose  swallow- 
tailed  blue  coats  were  plastroned  and  cuffed  with 
gold-laced    crimson,    galloped    through    the    lane 
hedged  by  all  these  crushed  and  hustled  bodies, 
their  long  straight  sabres  clattering  against  their 
stirrup-irons,  their  bridles  jingling  as  they  kept  pace 
with,  and  surrounded,   the  richly  decorated  open 
landau  in  which  sat  Aldobrando  II.  and  his  Queen. 
They   had   risen   to   depart   in   the   moment   of 
triumph,  leaving  the  tarja  to  be  presented  by  the 
head     of     the     Ayuntamiento,     or     the     Military 
Governor,  perhaps  by  an  attache" — the  devil  knew 
which  ! 


62       THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 

At  the  instant  of  his  triumph  El  Mozo  had  been 
slighted.  The  departure  of  the  royal  pair  seemed 
to  him  the  last  drop  of  gall  in  the  goblet,  the  final 
turn  of  the  poignard  in  the  wound.  Muscular, 
bright-eyed,  swarthily-handsome  in  his  thin  white 
flannels  and  open-breasted  silk  shirt,  he  had  carried 
the  suffrages  of  the  ladies  by  his  grace,  his  skill, 
his  manly  beauty,  and  the  marvellous  likeness  to 
the  King  that  the  pointed  beard  toned  down. 

Their  eyes  met  as  the  royal  equipage  rolled  by 
between  its  moving  lines  of  armed  men  on  canter- 
ing horses.  Aldobrando  turned  his  long  chin 
slightly  in  his  stiff  military  collar,  and  let  his  bold 
and  brilliant  eyes  rest  for  an  instant  on  the  face  of 
Don  Enrique,  who,  standing  erect  upon  the 
shoulders  of  two  of  the  brawniest  Old  Towners, 
folded  his  arms  upon  his  broad  breast  and  returned 
that  slighting  look  of  indifference,  with  eyes  darting 
fires  of  deadly  hatred  and  rage. 

Next  instant,  with  a  slight  lifting  of  his  strongly- 
marked  black  eyebrows,  the  faintest  twitch  of  his 
jutting  under-lip,  Aldobrando  II.  was  gone.  Don 
Enrique  saw  red — suffered  an  instant's  choking 
and  vertigo,  lost  his  balance  and  fell  from  the 
shoulders  of  his  supporters,  striking  his  head 
against  an  iron  mallet  used  in  driving  the  iron 
posts  of  the  net  barrier.  A  lady  screamed,  there 
was  a  susurration  of  excitement  amongst  the 
throng;  it  was  said  that  the  distinguished  player 
was  fatally  injured — even  hinted  that  he  was  dead. 


THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK       63 

At  any  rate  there  was  no  presentation  of  the  King's 
tarja.  The  winner,  in  a  state  of  insensibility,  real 
or  apparent,  was  carried  to  his  dressing-room.  The 
Club  surgeon  was  called  in.  The  injured  man  was 
let  blood,  bandaged,  bathed,  stimulated  and  sub- 
sequently conveyed,  in  the  care  of  Madame  Zabalza, 
who  appeared  distracted,  to  his  home. 

IX. 

The  Crowned  Powers  of  the  earth  do  not 
commonly  receive  parcels  or  even  letters  unopened, 
saving  such  as  are  known  to  emanate  from  sources 
indisputably  safe.  But  the  system  of  intelligence 
maintained  by  Social  Revolution  is  so  well  organ- 
ised, so  well  concealed,  and  so  far-reaching,  that 
the  placing  of  an  envelope  in  a  conspicuous  posi- 
tion upon  the  blotting-pad  in  Aldobrando's  work- 
room late  upon  the  following  evening,  did  not 
present  a  baffling  problem  to  Mademoiselle. 

The  letter,  written  in  a  small  and  elegant  feminine 
hand  in  violet  ink  on  pale  green  paper,  with  the 
device  of  a  peacock  stamped  in  silver  above  the 
single  initial  "  I,"  ran  thus  : 

"To  THE  KING'S  MOST  SUBLIME  MAJESTY. 

"  Sire, — In  the  silence  of  the  night  I  write 
this,  sitting  by  the  couch  of  my  unhappy  husband, 
Don  Enrique  Zabalza,  whom  the  displeasure  of 
your  Majesty  has  smitten  as  by  a  stroke  from  the 
sky.  Be  merciful,  my  King!  Remove  the  doubts, 


64       THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 

lighten  the  fears,  heal  the  wounds  of  the  unhappy 
sufferer  -who  raves  in  delirium  beneath  the  roof  that 
has  not  sheltered  the  exile  for  years. 

"Sire,  in  the  hour  of  peril  the  hand  of  my  King 
snatched  me, — and  one  whose  life  is  dearer  to  me 
than  my  own, — from  the  danger  of  a  dreadful  death. 
The  scar  your  Majesty  carries  on  the  inner  side  of 
your  right  arm  between  the  wrist  and  elbow  is  my 
witness.  Ah!  by  the  memory  of  that  magical  night 
under  the  stars  of  France,  and  the  voice  that  bade 
me  call  without  fear  upon  my  chivalrous  preserver 
to  succour  me  yet  again,  should  need  arise — / 
entreat  your  Majesty  to  pity  me.  Alas!  I  can  write 
no  more.  This  paper,  the  token  I  place  within  the 
envelope — are  wetted  with  blinding  tears." 

The  signature  was  the  initial  "I."  The  cambric 
handkerchief  enclosed  within  the  envelope,  bearing 
a  similar  initial  embroidered  in  hair,  exhaled  an 
agreeable  perfume  of  heliotrope  and  possessed  a 
suggestive  dampness.  The  King  sniffed  the  per- 
fume cautiously,  and,  unlocking  a  green  dispatch- 
box  bearing  his  private  cypher,  produced  a  similar 
handkerchief,  with  an  initial  "I"  in  hair.  Then 
he  pulled  back  the  sleeve  of  his  smoking-coat  and 
unfastened  the  bracelet  of  four  gold  curb-chains 
concealing  the  scar  of  the  red-hot  carriage-bar  from 
curious  or  unsympathetic  eyes.  Subsequently  he 
leaned  back,  lighted  another  cigarette  and  smoked 
it  slowly  and  thoughtfully.  Finally  he  shrugged 


THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK       65 

and  got  up,   rang  for  his  confidential  valet,  and 
passed  into  an  adjoining  room.  .  .    . 

Very  soon  a  tall  slight  man,  wrapped  in  a  dark 
military  capa,  emerged  from  a  postern  at  the  side 
of  the  palace  communicating  with  the  quarters  of 
the  equerries.  He  descended  a  flight  of  stone  steps 
and  crossed  a  courtyard,  gave  "  Donda"  in  answer 
to  the  sentinel's  "  Quien  sabe?"  exchanged 
"  Paisano  "  for  "  Que  gente?"  added  the  password 
of  the  night,  which  happened  to  be  "  Silence  !"  and 
was  in  the  by-streets  of  the  Alameda,  which  separ- 
ates the  Parte  Nueva  from  the  Old  Town,  in  the 
blinking  of  an  eye. 

The  Villa  of  the  Peacock  stood  on  the  town-edge 
of  the  suburbs.  Not  a  light  shone  in  its  windows 
as  the  pedestrian  passed  up  the  avenue  of  cork- 
trees, paused  at  the  bottom  of  the  steps  and  looked 
up  at  the  north  front  of  the  house,  dreaming  in  the 
silver  moonlight  behind  its  shuttered  windows. 
But  as  his  light  foot  touched  the  stone  a  faint  gleam 
shone  through  the  fanlight  above  the  door.  The  door 
opened  on  the  chain.  A  feminine  voice  whispered  : 

"Quien  es?" 

11  Genie  de  paz,"  Aldobrando  responded.  The 
chain  fell,  the  doors  swung  inward.  The  King  of 
Donda  stepped  into  the  hall.  And  the  unseen 
sinister  beings  who  had  watched  him,  and  dogged 
his  footsteps,  knew  that  part  of  the  design  was 
accomplished. 


66       THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 

It  was  to  transpire  later  how  the  woman  who  had 
unchained. the  hall-door  and  who  was  covered  from 
head  to  foot  with  a  black  mantilla,  took— with  a 
beautiful  hand,  Aldobrando  noticed— a  lantern  from 
the  slab  of  marble  below  a  vast  tarnished  mirror 
and  silently  motioned  the  King  to  precede  her, 
throwing  the  beam  on  before.  They  ascended  a 
stair  of  a  dozen  steps  leading  from  the  hall  to  a 
short  gallery.  The  woman  pointed  to  a  door.  The 
King  knocked,  opened  it,  went  in  and  saw  in  a 
large  room  illuminated  by  candles  a  man  lying  in 
a  big  bed  under  a  heavy  carved  baldaquin.  And 
the  man  had  the  King's  face,  though  the  skin  of 
his  chin  and  jaws  showed  pale  whence  a  beard  had 
recently  been  shaven.  The  man  had  been  intently 
watching  the  door,  and  when  it  opened  and  his 
double  entered,  such  hell-fires  blazed  in  his  eyes 
that  the  King  at  once  understood  the  situation. 

At  last  they  had  trapped  him.  His  charming 
Polish  exile  had  played  into  the  hands  of  assassins. 
But  until  the  revolver-shot  ended  all,  or  until  the 
dagger-stroke  pierced  the  vulnerable  spot  situated 
above  the  clavicle,  Aldobrando  asked  nothing 
better  than  to  play  the  game  like  a  King.  His  eye- 
brows arched  in  their  inimitably  quizzical  fashion. 
He  said,  with  that  well-known  outward  thrust  of 
his  jutting  under-lip  : 

"  Don  Enrique  Zabalza,  it  greatly  gratifies  me 
to  observe  that  the  natural  tenderness  of  your  wife 
has  exaggerated  the  gravity  of  your  condition. 


THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK        67 

You  are  neither  delirious  nor  moribund  from  the 
results  of  your  somersault.  Muy  Senor  mio,  I 
perceive  that  you  are  fully  attired  under  those 
coverings.  Give  yourself  the  trouble  to  rise  from 
your  bed." 

Those  intolerable  eyes.  That  jutting  mouth ! 
That  jesting  tone  of  raillery.  A  nerve-storm  swept 
through  the  being  of  the  other.  His  distorted  face, 
with  its  almost  idiotic  grin,  and  the  blobs  of  foam 
at  the  corners  of  the  mouth,  lost  for  the  moment 
all  resemblance  to  the  King's.  He  leaped  up, 
throwing  off  the  heavily-embroidered  counterpane, 
showing  himself  fully  dressed,  sans  coat,  collar 
and  cravat. 

"  You  —  you  —  O  !  — you  —  pitiless  murderer  ! — 
tyrant ! — whose  order  banished  me  my  country — for- 
bade me  to  dwell  in  the  home  of  my  parents — even 
to  shed  a  tear  upon  their  tomb.  .  .  .  What  can  you 
expect  from  me,  now  that  I  have  you  at  my  mercy  ? 
And  yet  you  gibe — you  can  laugh  in  my  face ! 
Will  you  laugh  when  I  tell  you  that  this  house  is 
surrounded,  that  you  are  a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of 
the  Sons  of  Anarchy?" 

"Muy  Senor  mio,"  answered  the  King,  "when 
I  entered  this  apartment  and  saw  a  fully-dressed 
man  in  the  bed,  I  knew  what  that  implied." 

And,  coolly  throwing  off  his  military  cloak,  the 
King  took  a  chair  and  placed  it  against  the  wains- 
cot so  as  to  command  the  single  door.  Then  he 
sat  down,  continuing  pleasantly  : 


68       THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 

"  I  presume  you  propose  to  despatch  me  after 
some  original  fashion.  Well,  let  me  relieve  the 
apprehensions  I  read  in  your  face.  I  have  neither 
dagger,  nor  revolver,  nor  poison  upon  my  person. 
Nothing  but  a  cigarette-case  and  a  match-box, 
which  I  now  produce,  as  it  occurs  to  me  that  a  man 
who  is  about  to  die  may  just  as  well  smoke  1" 


X. 

The  speaker  selected  a  cigarette  and  lighted  it 
with  unperturbed  appreciation,  then  crossing  his 
legs,  leaned  back  and  continued  exhaling  a  column 
of  fragrant  smoke  into  the  close  air  of  the  room. 

"You  observe  that  I  take  the  situation  calmly. 
Why  should  I  not,  Senor  Mio?  My  affairs,  both 
private  and  State,  are  in  order.  I  have  an  heir, 
and" — the  King's  lip  twitched — "a  wife  whom  I 
can  trust.  My  religious  duties  have  been  duly  ful- 
filled— for  the  offences  I  have  committed  against 
Heaven  and  my  fellow-men  I  have  done  my  best 
to  atone  by  penance  and  alms-giving.  For  such 
sins  as  still  are  set  down  against  me  in  the  Book  of 
the  Recording  Angel,  I  leave  them  to  the  mercy  of 
Him  in  Whom  alone  I  trust  I  Speaking  of  angels  " 
added  Aldobrando  II.  with  something  in  his 
brilliant  eye  approaching  to  a  twinkle,  "it  is  to 
Madame  de  Zabalza,  your  wife,  that  the  credit  of 
my  capture  is  due.  When  I  reflect  that  in  assist- 


THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK        69 

ing  her  to  escape  from  the  wreck  of  a  burning 
railway  carriage  I  facilitated  my  own  violent  and 
premature  demise — I  am  tempted  to  laugh  again  !" 

"  And  will  you  laugh  ?"  demanded  Don  Enrique. 
"  Will  you  laugh  when  I  tell  you  that  although  for 
this  moment  of  my  vengeance  I  have  waited  fifteen 
years,  I  am  tempted  at  the  moment  when  the  goblet 
is  at  my  lips  almost  to  pity  you  !"  He  struck  him- 
self upon  the  breast.  "  That  something  here  relents 
towards  the  image  of  myself.  That  I  would  undo 
what  I  have  done  were  it  now  possible.  Tell  me, 
my  enemy,  do  you  believe  this  ?" 

"  Muy  Senor  mio,"  said  Aldobrando,  smiling 
coldly,  "though  I  consider  myself  fairly  well 
documented  on  the  subject  of  Anarchism,  I  have 
never  yet  heard  of  an  Extremist  of  the  relenting 
type.  Nor,  with  your  leave,  do  I  believe  in  your 
Quixotic  sentiments."  Sudden  anger  clanged  in 
his  voice  as  he  threw  away  the  cigarette-end. 
"  N  ombre  de  Dios!  Finish  your  work!  I  am 
waiting — do  you  hear  ?  What !  Must  I  stir  your 
sluggish  blood  with  insults  ?  Well  then,  listen  ! 
Puds  si!  For  no  reason  were  you  exiled  from 
Dondese  soil  but  that  you  might  serve  me  else- 
where. Poor  scapegoat !  When  I  was  a  boy  of 
eleven  I  used  the  extraordinary  likeness  between 
me,  Aldobrando  of  Donda,  and  the  sardine 
merchant's  son  as  cover  for — how  many  forbidden 
escapadas!  My  guardian  angel,  my  patron  Saints 
S.  Aldobrand  of  Vintara  and  S.  Pedro  of  Calamaria 


;o       THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 

were  kept  uncommonly  busy,  let  me  tell  you,  my 
poor  double,  by  the  frolics  I  enjoyed.  H ombre  I 
haven't  I  been  stealing  apples  and  almonds  and 
figs  from  the  gardens  of  the  Franciscan  Fathers,  or 
yelling  on  the  sunny  side  of  the  bull-ring  with 
other  little  blackguards,  or  on  all-night  fishing  ex- 
cursions with  the  pescadors  of  the  Puerto,  catching 
conger-eel  and  squid  and  mullet,  in  your  character, 
drinking  coffee  boiled  on  a  brasero,  and  eating  raw 
ham  and  garlic  sandwiches  that  were  meant  for  you, 
whilst  the  lights  were  burning  in  the  royal  apart- 
ments at  the  palace,  and  my  tutors  and  governors 
were  running  about  like  distracted  emmets — and 
the  Queen  Mother  and  my  aunts  were  tearing  their 
hair !  And  when  I  got  older,  what  stolen  sweets 
have  I  not  crunched  with  your  teeth,  Senor,  my 

simulacrum — what  stolen  kisses  have  I  not No, 

por  Dios  !  1  always  took  care  to  pay  the  kisses  back  I 
Ha  !  does  not  that  drive  the  dart  into  your  thick  hide 
and  send  the  blood  to  your  weak  brain,  you  bleating 
calf,  you  strutting  peacock  ?" 

Zabalza  ground  his  teeth.  He  got  in — the  King 
being  compelled  to  get  his  second  wind  : 

"  Senor,  in  spite  of  these  insults,  I  pledge  my  soul 
that  Your  Majesty  shall  leave  this  house  unharmed 
and  in  safety.  If  I  entertained  designs  against  your 
person,  I  abandon  them  now.  I  swear  it  on  the 
sacred  head  of  Your  Majesty  !  But  it  is  necessary 
that  you  should  change  clothes  with  me.  Quick, 
takeoff  that  uniform!" 


THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK       71 

For  the  King  was  wearing  the  undress  of  a 
general  of  his  infantry,  with  a  brochette  of  many 
decorations  on  the  tunic,  and  the  Star  of  the  Order 
of  S.  Pedro  of  Calamaria.  He  flatly  refused 
to  comply  with  this  demand  of  Zabalza's,  shout- 
ing : 

"No!  by  a  thousand  devils!  I  will  keep  my 
clothes  and  my  person  inviolate  from  defilement 
by  any  contact  with  canaille  like  you  !  .  .  .  Idiot, 
you  may  even  now  shoot  or  stun  me  and  dress  in 
my  uniform  and — if  such  is  your  crazy  purpose — 
attempt  to  enter  the  palace  in  my  stead  !  But  with- 
out the  consigne — even  the  King  of  Donda  could 
not  pass  the  sentries.  Booby  !  Blunderhead  ! — 
you  that  call  yourself  a  conspirator  1  Do  you 
imagine  even  for  a  moment  that  you  are  worthy  to 
personate  the  King?  Well,  then,"  cried  Aldo- 
brando,  suddenly  seized  by  a  brilliant  inspiration, 
"what  is  to  prevent  you?  We  have  changed 
clothes.  You  are  the  King  !" 

And  the  King  shouted  with  angry  laughter, 
strange  mirth  which  must  have  sounded  oddly  on 
the  ears  of  the  Anarchists  waiting  the  prearranged 
signal  in  the  lower  apartments. 

Then  the  door  opened  in  the  midst  of  the  King's 
laughter.  Mademoiselle  Levinski  stood  upon  the 
threshold,  beautiful,  icy,  and  implacable,  like  Fate 
in  a  mantilla.  The  prearranged  signal  had  not 
been  given,  but  Zabalza  turned  to  her  with  ill- 
disguised  eagerness.  Nonplussed  by  the  sudden- 


72       THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 

ness  of  Aldobrando's  volte-face,  he  was  ready  to 
follow  the  cpuncils  of  the  cooler,  keener  brain. 

"  You — you  heard  what  this  madman "  he 

could  hardly  articulate.  "  He  will  not  believe  that  he 
jests  in  the  face  of  Death.  He  pretends  that— 

He  broke  off,  for  Mademoiselle  Levinski's  glance 
coldly  ignored  him.  She  said,  looking  over  his 
shoulder  at  the  King  : 

"All  is  well,  then,  comrade?  His  Majesty  has 
availed  himself  of  the  alternative  you  suggested  ! 
This  being  so,  it  is  time  for  him  to  leave.  You  will 
accompany  him  to  the  stairhead  and  bid  him  fare- 
well in  the  prearranged  formula  :  '  Muy  Senor  mio, 
may  your  errand  prosper.  Depart  with  God!'  " 

A  sound  that  was  compound  of  a  sob  and  a  groan 
broke  from  Zabalza.  His  eyes  blazed  and  his  face 
was  dabbled  with  sweat.  Through  the  confused 
noises  in  his  ears  he  heard  his  own  voice  saying  to 
the  Extremists  : 

"Comrades,  I  take  it  all  upon  my  shoulders. 
Everything  is  arranged — nothing  can  possibly  go 
wrong.  I  lure  the  King  to  the  Villa  of  the  Pea- 
cock. The  special  means  I  use  are  secret  and  my 
own  affair.  You,  presently,  will  hear  high  words 
passing  between  us.  He  will  upbraid  me— I  shall 
seem  to  relent  I  ...  Seized  with  contrition  I  then 
shall  warn  him  :  '  Men  are  in  ambush  without  this 
house  to  assassinate  Your  Majesty !  Deign  to  change 
clothes  with  me.  Leave  the  house  in  my  character. 
All  will  be  well  if  Your  Majesty  assents  to  this.'  " 


THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK        73 

"And  Aldobrando  will  agree  to  the  exchange? 
You  are  certain?"  they  had  asked  him.  Zabalza 
had  replied  : 

"  I  will  give  you  a  sign  by  which  you  may  know 
that  the  ruse  has  succeeded.  When  he  is  on  the 
point  of  leaving  the  house  you  will  hear  me  say — 
speaking  in  his  character  I — '  Muy  Senor  mio,  may 
your  errand  prosper  !  Depart  with  God  ! '  Then 
you  will  do  your  part,  but  it  will  not  be  the  King  of 
Donda  who  will  fall  pierced  by  the  little  winged  and 
venomed  messengers — only  the  Mannequin,  who 
has  been  killed  in  error.  The  King  escapes — by  a 
miracle  !  The  King  returns  to  the  Palace!" 

But,  as  one  preordained  to  be  through  life 
Destiny's  pantaloon,  Zabalza  had  omitted  to  take 
into  consideration  the  inflexible  courage  of  the  King 
of  Donda,  his  keenness  of  perception,  and  that  trifl- 
ing detail  of  the  pass.  Last,  and  worst  of  all,  the 
possibility  of  betrayal  on  the  part  of  Mademoiselle 
Levinski,  now  driven  to  final  choice  between  her 
comrade  and  her  love.  No  wonder  the  poor 
wretch  turned  livid,  tore  at  his  collar,  and  finally 
fell  upon  his  knees,  appealing  alternately  to  the 
King's  mercy  and  the  lady's,  pouring  forth  a  flood 
of  incoherent  sentences,  threats  perhaps,  mingled 
with  prayers. 

Then,  suddenly,  his  Atropos  decided.  The  shears 
clicked,  and  the  severed  ends  fell. 

"Rise  up,"  she  said  to  Don  Enrique,  and,  as 
the  unstrung  wretch  obeyed  her,  she  took  a  tweed 


74       THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 

overcoat  from  a  chair  near  the  bed-head  and  held 
it  for  him  to  put  on.  She  wrapped  a  white  scarf 
about  his  pithless  neck,  pulled  up  the  coat-collar, 
buttoned  the  garment,  crowned  its  wearer  with  a 
light  felt  deerstalker,  and  saw  her  work  well  done. 
"Comrade,"  she  said,  addressing  Aldobrando,  who 
had  watched  her  with  intentness,  "  nothing  remains 
for  you  now  to  do  but  to  accompany  His  Majesty 
to  the  head  of  the  stairs.  As  I  open  the  hall-door 
say  in  a  loud  voice  :  '  Muy  Senor  mio,  may  your 
errand  prosper.  Depart  with  God  ! ' ' 

She  took  Zabalza  by  the  hand  and  led  him,  un- 
resisting, out  of  the  great  gloomy  bed-chamber. 
He  went  as  uncomplainingly  as  a  sheep  goes  to 
the  butcher's  yard.  He  made  no  effort  to  escape, 
a  deadly  stupor  weighed  upon  his  faculties.  His 
hour  was  on  Don  Enrique,  crushing  out  all  hope. 
His  head  hung  drooping  towards  his  breast  as  he 
went  down  the  short  staircase— with  a  gait  and 
bearing  very  unlike  the  King's.  The  chain  of  the 
hall-door  fell.  The  doors  swung  open.  To  the 
King,  looking  down  from  the  dusky  stair-head,  the 
black  mouth  of  the  cork-tree  avenue  seemed  yawn- 
ing to  swallow  the  figure  to  whom  he  called  : 

"  Muy  Senor  mio,  may  your  errand  prosper. 
Depart  with  God!" 

Zabalza  gave  no  sign  that  he  heard.  He  went 
heavily  down  the  steps  and  was  gulped  by  the  jaws 
of  the  avenue;  from  every  side  came  curious, 
spitting  sounds. 


THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK        75 

Then,  as  the  hall-door  softly  shut  and  the  chain 
was  put  in  place  again,  a  shrill,  strange,  terrible 
cry  came  up  from  the  dark  avenue  to  the  King  at 
the  top  of  the  stair.  The  outcry  was  followed  by 
no  others,  but  by  the  sound  of  unsteady  running 
footsteps,  uneven,  broken  by  pauses  and  dull  thuds 
as  though  the  runner,  bewildered  by  the  darkness 
or  seized  with  sudden  panic,  were  knocking  against 
the  boles  of  the  trees.  But  suddenly  all  was  still. 

It  was  getting  towards  three  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  Already  the  sky  was  grey  behind  the 
mass  of  Monte  Ajulia.  Soon  her  crest  would  be 
tipped  with  golden  fire :  the  violet  shadows  would 
lift  from  the  jade-green  Bahia,  as  the  slumberous 
earth  heavily  rolled  over  to  meet  the  morning  kisses 
of  the  sun. 

"Your  Majesty  looks  fatigued,"  ventured  Made- 
moiselle Levinski.  "  Dare  I  offer  a  cup  of  coffee?" 

"A  thousand  thanks,  Senora!"  Aldobrando  II. 
returned,  smiling  somewhat  cynically,  "but  I 
infinitely  prefer  to  break  my  fast  at  home." 

He  threw  on  the  military  cloak  Mademoiselle 
now  brought  and  tendered  him,  and  topped  him- 
self with  the  peaked  undress  cap,  adding  : 

"  I  presume  I  am  free  to  follow  the  gentleman 
who  has  preceded  me?" 

Mademoiselle  Levinski  answered  enigmatically  : 

"  May  Heaven  bestow  a  longer  life  than  his  upon 
Your  Majesty." 


76       THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 

"Caramba!"  exclaimed  Aldobrando.  'You 
mean  that  the  man  has  been  murdered?"  He 
added,  as  Mademoiselle  bent  her  head  in  assent : 
"Can  it  be  possible  that  poor  devil  has  met  the 
end  designed  for  me?  ...  And  by  what  means  .  .  . 
if  I  am  not  too  curious?" 

Mademoiselle  Levinski  replied  calmly  : 

"The  persons  concealed  behind  the  trees  of  the 
avenida  employed  air-guns  with  poisoned  darts  1" 

"Upon  my  life!"  exclaimed  the  King,  "you 
take  the  loss  of  your  husband  with  extraordinary 
phlegm!" 

"A  true  Terrorist  takes  everything  coolly,"  re- 
turned Mademoiselle  Levinski,  quoting,  it  may  be, 
from  the  Catechism  of  Anarchy.  "  Besides,  that 
poor  saltimbanque  was  neither  my  husband  nor 
my  lover.  Now  let  me  beg  Your  Majesty  to  depart 
from  here  at  once,  keeping  the  collar  of  your 
mantle  turned  up  so  as  to  conceal  the  complexion 
of  your  chin." 

"  I  comprehend.  I  am  returning  to  the  Palace 
in  the  character  of  my  poor  double.  That  dead 
man  lying  somewhere  in  the  avenue  is  supposed," 
said  Aldobrando  II.,  "to  be  the  King.  As  to 
departing,  I  assure  you  I  shall  do  so  with  alacrity. 
But  as  regards  yourself,  Mademoiselle?" 

'Think  nothing  of  me,"  she  answered  quickly. 
"I  am  in  no  danger — and  it  will  soon  be  broad 
daylight.  What  is  this  you  wish  me  to  take  ?" 

For  the  King,  with  his  well-known  grace,  had 


THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK       77 

produced,  and  now  extended  to  the  lady,  a  some- 
what bulky  envelope  containing  two  cambric 
handkerchiefs  beautifully  marked  in  hair. 

"One  of  them  has  been  in  my  possession  for 
nearly  six  years.  The  other  I  received  last  even- 
ing. Permit  me  to  return  them,"  said  the  King, 
"and  to  place  myself  at  your  feet.  Adios, 
Senorita!" 

"Adieu,  Monseigneur,"  said  Mademoiselle  with 
her  clear  eyes  on  Aldobrando's.  "  I  have  paid  my 
debt  to  Your  Majesty.  Nothing  now  remains  but 
to  settle  my  account  with  the  master  of  this  house 
and  depart." 

As  Aldobrando  passed  down  the  avenue  he 
halted  for  an  instant.  The  roses  had  been  re- 
freshed by  dew,  the  mellow  light  of  early  day 
bathed  the  world  in  exquisite  beauty,  doves  cooed 
and  nightingales  were  singing  in  the  ilex-oaks,  a 
cool  breeze  sighed  from  the  Bahia,  and  gossamer 
webs  floated  in  the  golden  atmosphere.  You  would 
have  deemed  the  man  who  lay  at  the  foot  of  a  tree 
in  a  strangely  huddled  attitude,  some  wine-bibber 
of  the  town,  sleeping  off  the  effects  of  a  debauch. 
That  is,  until  you  bent  closely  over  him  and  noted 
the  blackish  discoloration  of  the  distorted  face,  and 
the  hands  that  clutched  the  soil. 

"The  master  of  the  house  sleeps  late,"  said  the 
King,  glancing  back  at  the  shuttered  Villa. 
"  Mademoiselle,  if  she  waits  to  settle  her  account, 


78       THE  VILLA  OF  THE  PEACOCK 

must  indefinitely  postpone  her  departure.   Sapristil 
what  was  that?" 

A  revolver-shot  rang  sharply  out  within  the  Villa 
of  the  Peacock.  The  King  glanced  back,  then 
altered  his  mind  and  strode  swiftly  on. 


THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN. 

I. 

THIS  is  the  story  of  the  New  York  doctor  who  died 
at  Kellerbusch's  Farm,  and  of  the  wonderful 
legacy  that  broken  sinner  left  to  another  man,  in 
trust  for  Heaven. 

He  was  in  the  final  stage  of  phthisis  when  Allan 
Armitage,  recently  graduate  of  the  Missionary 
College  of  Holybourne,  Werkshire,  and  himself  a 
cough-racked,  hollow-eyed  victim  of  pulmonary 
disease,  came  across  him.  Does  the  creature's 
real  name  matter  ?  Perhaps !  At  any  rate  he 
passed  at  Kellerbusch's  under  the  alias  of  Brantin. 
He  had  been  a  fashionable  quack  physician  in  New 
York,  and  had  fattened  upon  the  folly  of  women 
patients  and  the  vicious  appetites  of  men,  and 
flourished  and  decayed,  falling  himself  into  de- 
graded habits,  and  so  drifted,  by  way  of  San 
Francisco  and  Puerto  Rico  and  Madeira,  coughing 
up  his  remaining  lung  bit  by  bit  as  he  went,  out 
to  Cape  Colony,  and  from  thence  to  the  Transvaal. 
In  Johannesburg,  6,000  feet  above  sea  level,  thanks 
to  the  clear  atmosphere,  and  in  despite  of  dust- 
storms,  he  had  picked  up  and  made  money,  plying 

79 


8o         THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN 

. 

his  old  vile  trade.  And  then  he  made  the  great 
discovery  that  crowned  his  knavish  life,  before  he 
ended  it  at  Kellerbusch's  Sanatorium. 

Kellerbusch  was  a  Field-Cornet  and  an  utterly 
respectable  man,  who  dealt  not  only  in  district 
justice,  but  in  market-garden  produce  for  which 
city  customers  were  willing  to  pay  the  price.  His 
vegetable-gardens  lay  up  along  the  Pleizierreis 
Valley  way,  his  farmhouse,  a  building  of  the  old 
Colonial  pattern,  was  shaded  by  patriarchal  blue- 
gum  trees.  What  more  natural  than  to  advertise 
the  place  in  the  Star  and  other  papers  as  a  first- 
class  health-resort  for  pulmonary  sufferers?  A 
brother  of  his  wife's,  who  was  a  doktor  and  lived 
at  Pretoria,  and  had  never  seen  the  estate  in  ques- 
tion, supplied  Kellerbusch  with  the  necessary  certi- 
ficates about  purity  of  water  and  healthfulness  of 
situation ;  and  testified  in  glowing  sentences  to  the 
curative  properties  of  fresh  goats'  milk,  perennially 
flowing  in  Kellerbusch's  Land  of  Promise.  Keller- 
busch described  the  scenery  himself  in  language 
that  came  little  short  of  the  poetic,  and  fixed  the 
tariff  temptingly  low. 

The  lying  advertisement  and  the  false  certificate 
caught  Brantin  the  rogue,  and  Armitage  the  honest 
man,  both  sick  to  death,  one  actually  dying. 
Possibly  the  nourishing  milk  of  the  curative  goat 
might  have  done  them  good — if  they  could  have 
caught  the  too  nimble  dairy,  skipping  among  the 
hill-tops  in  untrammelled  freedom .  Being  too  weak, 
Allan  Armitage  and  his  fellow-patient  looked  at  the 


THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN         81 

goats  instead.  This  was  the  treatment  by  day ; 
and  a  single  room  with  two  beds  in  it  having 
been  assigned  them — for  how  can  two  men  who 
have  got  the  same  sickness  take  hurt  from  each 
other  ?  asked  the  reasonable  Kellerbusch — at  night, 
they  could  pursue  other  quarry  even  more  active 
than  the  elusive  goat. 

They  might  have  loaded  Kellerbusch  with  de- 
served reproach  and  left  the  plaats,  but  three  or 
four  days  of  the  diet  had  done  wonders  in  the  way 
of  reducing  their  strength.  They  stayed  because 
they  were  too  weak  to  move.  There  was  a  little  old 
Boer  meid  in  a  flapping  kappje,  who,  twice  a  day, 
cooked  and  set  forth  untempting  meals  in  the 
public  eetkamer,  as  the  stuffy  front  parlour  had  been 
imaginatively  christened  by  Kellerbusch.  But  she 
was  unmarried,  and  carry  food  to  an  Engelschmann 
or  an  Amerikaan  in  bed,  that  she  would  not,  not 
for  the  Predikant !  She  knew  what  lustful  devils 
were  the  rooineks,  and  if  no  honest  Boer  came 
forward  in  time,  and  she  was  not  so  old  yet,  the 
Lord  be  thanked  ! — then  she  would  die  a  virgin,  and 
ask  Him  what  He  made  her  for  ? 

The  Kaffirs  about  the  farm  were  insolent  and 
filthy,  no  help  could  be  got  from  them ;  and  the 
overseer,  Kellerbusch 's  nephew,  spoke  only  the 
Taal,  and  was  a  surly  brute.  So  Allan  Armitage, 
who  could  just  crawl,  became  servant  and  nurse  to 
his  fellow-patient  in  this  precious  sanatorium,  and, 
later  on,  Missionary. 

He   lay   in   bed  —  the  other   patient  —  an    ugly, 

6 


82         THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN 

squalid,  ghastly  spectacle.  In  his  New  York  days 
of  opulence  ,he  had  paid  Japanese  artists  of  eminence 
in  the  under-world  of  vice,  to  cover  him  with  tattoo- 
ing; and  the  monstrous  things  that  twined  and 
sprawled  and  girned  upon  his  emaciated  limbs  and 
wasted  body  might  have  been  the  legion  of  devils 
that  possessed  him,  breaking  out  of  their  fast- 
crumbling  prison,  so  hideous  and  obscene  were 
they.  He  cursed  the  Kellerbusch  swindle  freely— 
and  many  other  things  besides.  He  swore  at  the 
meek  aspirant  to  the  martyr's  palm,  and  ordered 
him  about  by  day.  But  in  the  long,  slow  watches 
of  the  night,  when  the  grizzly  hairs  of  the  decay- 
ing sinner's  head  bristled  under  the  shadow  of  the 
sword  that  would  fall  so  soon,  Brantin  would  sit 
up,  bathed  in  sweat  and  holding  a  blood-stained 
towel  to  his  mouth,  and,  craning  his  livid  head 
forward  over  his  fleshless  knees,  would  listen 
greedily  as  the  Englishman  prayed  for  him. 

"  I  guess  it  isn't  much  use,"  he  would  say. 
"  I've  lost  my  last  hunch  in  this  blamed  game  of 
life.  I'm  busted — right  out,  for  this  world — and  the 
next !"  His  mouth  twisted  in  a  shudder,  he  wrung 
it  back  into  a  smile.  "  But  maybe  the  Big  Boss 
Above  would  let  up  on  me  a  bit — in  the  matter  of 
time,  if  a  sucker  like  you  keeps  on  asking  !" 

Even  as  he  hoped,  the  wretch's  last  sands  were 
dancing  out  of  the  glass.  He  was  never  to  get 
back  to  New  York  and  realise  the  colossal  fortune 
that  was  to  be  made  in  Dopeland  out  of  his  great 


THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN         83 

discovery.  He  had  a  son  who  had  graduated  at 
Harvard  and  was  now  conductor  of  a  Broadway 
electric  street-car.  And  he  had  a  daughter,  educated 
at  a  fashionable  women's  college,  who  was  a  sales- 
lady. And  he  had  meant  to  do  the  liberal  thing 
by  them,  sir  !  when  the  pile  was  made.  .  .  . 

He  babbled  of  the  Great  Discovery  and  the 
condemned  idiots  who  had  made  light  of  it  and 
cast  him  out.  These  were  a  group  of  prominent 
citizens  in  Johannesburg,  persons  of  divers  nation- 
alities forming  a  syndicate  for  the  importation  of  a 
certain  kind  of  living  merchandise  in  every  shade 
of  human  colour,  from  the  pallid  London  work- 
girl  and  the  red-cheeked  wench  from  the  Home 
Counties,  to  the  brunette  Frenchwoman,  the  florid 
German,  the  olive  Italian,  the  swart  Spaniard,  the 
dusky  Hindoo,  the  amber-skinned  Japanese  and  the 
slant-eyed  Chinawoman,  primrose  yellow  under 
half  an  inch  of  rice  powder  laid  on  white  of  egg. 

The  members  of  the  Syndicate, — some  of  them 
being  solid  burghers  with  voices  in  the  Raad, 
and  others  wealthy  Uitlanders  of  variegated 
nationalities,  and  considerable  interests  among  the 
towering  chimneys  and  roaring  dumps  of  the  Rand, 
— were  all  men  of  eminent  respectability.  Like  their 
British  brother,  Mr.  Jones  of  London,  who  owns  that 
dingy  row  of  muslin-curtained,  furtive-fronted  houses 
nearly  opposite  the  Barracks  in  North-West  Street, 
where  painted  harridans  in  soiled  pink  dressing- 
gowns  leer  between  the  greasy  slats  of  the  decrepit 


84         THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN 

Venetian  blinds ;  and  their  near  relative,  Mr.  Brown 
of  New  York,  who  is  landlord  of  those  imposing 
drab  stone-fronted  houses  on  Nine-Thousandth 
Street ;  and  the  other  man,  also  an  exemplary  citizen, 
and  a  pillar  of  public  morality,  who  runs  the  prin- 
cipal night-houses  in  Chicago,  each  strove  to  be  a 
shining  light  and  an  example  to  his  neighbour.  Each 
attended  his  place  of  worship  regularly  with  his 
family,  subscribed  handsomely  to  local  charities,  and 
loudly  bemoaned  the  yearly  increase  in  the  number 
of  the  "stiffs"  and  the  "rowdies"  who  by  their 
immoral  conduct  in  loafing  all  day  on  Post  Office 
Corner,  and  their  habit  of  living  on  tobacco  and 
drink  and  loose  women,  degraded  and  lowered  the 
tone  of  the  town. 

An  ill-paved,  ill-lighted,  abominably-drained  and 
insufficiently-watered  town,  at  that  period,  some 
years  before  the  South  African  War  of  1900,  where 
education,  except  in  the  Boer  Taal,  was  forbidden 
above  the  third  standard,  that  Oom  Paul's  young 
burghers  might  not  learn  English,  that  language 
regarded  as  the  original  tongue  of  the  inhabitants 
of  Sodom,  and  the  other  destroyed  Cities  of  the 
Plain. 

These  enlightened  citizens,  then,  intent  upon  the 
laying  up  of  treasure,  earthly  as  well  as  celestial, 
were  sorely  exercised  about  the  large  percentage  of 
deaths  among  their  live-stock.  The  merchandise 
usually  came  into  the  Transvaal  via  Durban  and 
Delagoa  Bay,  using  the  railway  in  the  first  instance 


THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN         85 

and  the  trek-waggon  in  the  second.  And  though 
the  profits  accruing  from  the  business  were  very 
large  indeed,  the  expenses  were  considerable.  The 
Netherlands  Company,  owning  all  the  railroads  in 
the  Transvaal,  charged  heavy  rates,  and  the  im- 
ported goods  were  perishable.  The  average  life  of 
the  'bus-horse,  superseded  now  by  the  hooting 
petrol  steed,  used  to  be  calculated  at  three  years. 
According  to  statisticians,  the  white-slave  imported 
to  the  Colonies  lasts  about  the  same  length  of  time. 
But  there  these  honest  speculators,  German,  Dutch, 
English,  and  Oriental,  had  left  too  wide  a  margin 
upon  the  credit  side  of  life. 

For  drink,  in  that  highly  rarefied  atmosphere, 
does  not  merely  stupefy.  It  maddens.  And  sans 
liquor,  the  women  of  Francois  Villon's  "  sad  liberal 
sisterhood  "  cannot  ply  their  trade.  But  for  alcohol 
and  drugs,  their  wretched  life  would  be  impossible. 
Therefore  delirium-tremens  raged,  a  veritable 
epidemic,  among  the  occupants  of  the  houses  run 
by  the  Syndicate,  carrying  profits  away  upon  the 
leathery  wings  of  a  phenomenal  mortality.  Here 
came  in  the  Great  Discovery  of  the  man  who  was 
dying  at  Kellerbusch's  Sanatorium.  For  this  poor 
wretch,  doomed  throughout  life  to  exercise  God- 
given  capacity,  and  employ  hard-won  knowledge 
in  the  service  of  Hell,  had  occupied  the  salaried 
post  of  resident  physician  to  the  establishments 
run  by  the  Syndicate.  And  chief  among  the 
numberless  nameless  duties  involved  was  the 


86         THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN 

treatment  of  patients  suffering  from  the  results  of 
the  "Jag." 

"  It  was  great  practice,"  Brantin  coughed  out — 
"just  great!  You  don't  suppose  a  man  needed 
to  creep  round  cautiously,  dropping  out  bromide 
of  potassium  and  chloral  hydrate,  such  as  you'd 
prescribe  for  a  New  York  Society  woman  who'd 
been  drinking  champagne  and  whisky  right  on  end 
through  the  season,  and  sent  for  you  because  she'd 
got  to  seeing  queer  things  in  the  corners  of  her 
room  when  she  went  to  bed  of  a  morning  !  No 
more  than  you'd  squirt  water  out  of  a  single 
hydrant  at  a  sky-scraper  newspaper-office-building, 
with  an  incendiary  petroleum-fire  raging  up  the 
elevator-shaft.  Hell,  no !  It  would  be  an  affair 
of  nine  twelve-inch  hydrants,  and  800  feet  of  hose, 
and  half  a  dozen  motor-pumps  at  each  station, 
working  to  supply  pressure  for  eighteen  thousand 
gallons  per  minute,  so  that  when  you  turned  on 
the  stream  you'd  have  an  Eiffel  Tower  of  salt  water 
sheer  out  of  East  River  or  the  Bay,  roaring  up 
twenty  storeys  and  plunking  down  through  the 
roof." 

He  mopped  the  sweat  off  his  livid  face  and 
panted  awhile,  and  went  on:  "Why,  I've  given 
eight-grain  doses  of  strychnine  in  chloric  ether  to 
fix  up  a  girl  that  had  got  the  crazy  shakes  and  gone 
all  to  pieces — right  for  the  evening!  I've  taken 
another  in  blue  collapse — spasmodic  asthma  and 
cardiac  failure  with  complications — and  drenched 


THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN        87 

her  with  thirty  minims  of  hydrocyanic  in  H2O, 
and  seen  her  perk  up  and  reach  out  for  her 
paints,  and  go  out  dressed  like  a  star  actress  to 
supper  at  Ryan's  within  an  hour.  Of  course  I 
made  some  mistakes" — Armitage  shuddered  at  his 
grin — "  but  nobody  cut  up  nasty  or  asked  questions 
— there.  And  so  ..." 

He  left  off  to  strive  with  the  resistless  power  that 
was  rending  soul  and  body  apart.  His  lean  ribs 
and  hollow  chest  were  racked  with  the  throes  of 
coughing.  His  legs  jerked  and  his  hairbristled  so  that 
the  bleached  scalp  showed  through  the  degraded 
black-grey  hair-stubble.  He  panted  out  at  last : 

"  And  so  I  had  my  inspiration  !  .  .  .  There's  a 
chloride  of  a  metal,  common  enough  in  the  quartz 
reef  about  Johannesburg,  that  men  of  science  knew 
a  long  time  ago  to  possess  properties  neutralizing 
the  effects  of  alcohol  upon  the  human  or  the  brute 
system.  But  none  of  'em,  I  guess,  ever  went  so 
far  as  me  !  I  combined  with  another  chloride,  less 
known,  and  used  the  two  in  solution,  not  only 
administering  them  internally,  but  giving  hypo- 
dermic injections  and  using  the  soaked  electrical 
pad.  Well,  I'm  not  a  man  easy  to  surprise,  but 
the  results  I  registered  in  cases  of  alcoholic  insanity 
and  alkaloid  poisoning  were  astonishing !  The 
women  —  drunkards  and  druggards  —  the  worst 
cases  I  could  pick — were  cured  in  seven  days.  And 
the  Committee  came  around  and  thanked  me.  Saw 
their  way  to  increased  profits  and  lessened  ex- 


penses,  and  raised  my  salary  and  voted  me  a  piece 
of  plate.  And  I  got  windy  and  bloated  with  a  new 
idea.  The  notion  of  rendering  the  women  immune, 
for  at  least  a  term  of  years,  against  the  effects  of 
alcohol  and  the  alkaloids  by  saturating  the  system 
with  my  chlorides  in  solution.  I'd  inoculated  half 
the  herd  before  I  found  out  what  I'd  done  !" 

There  was  a  vital  interest  about  the  horrible 
recital  that  had  riveted  the  attention  of  his  fellow- 
sufferer.  The  Reverend  Allan  Armitage,  sitting 
gaunt  and  haggard  upon  his  own  comfortless  cot, 
asked : 

"What  had  you  done?"  and  loathed  himself  for 
that  thrill  of  curiosity. 

"Done!"  echoed  the  livid,  gasping  creature 
upon  the  other  bed.  "Something  in  your  line, 
Sucker  —  without  meaning  it!  Because  those 
blasted  women,  when  they  found  they  couldn't 
drink  or  drug  any  more,  they  stampeded,  com- 
mitted suicide  or  got  religion,  and  quit  out.  And 
Dunch,  the  boss  who  managed  the  houses,  re- 
ported me  to  the  Syndicate,  and  the  Syndicate  gave 
me  the  shake,  and  here  I  am  !" 

Seized  by  one  of  his  sudden  despairing  rages,  he 
shrieked  the  words  out,  brandishing  a  skeleton 
fist. 

Hauled  up  for  good  in  this  God-damned  place  ! — 
broke  and  dying  like  a  worn  out  hobo  at  a  barn- 
side,  going  out  of  life  like  a  beggar,  and  with 
millions  of  dollars  lying  here!" 


THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN         89 

He  dragged  out  a  worn  black  leather-strapped 
pocket-book  from  under  the  soiled  pillow  and  shook 
it  furiously  at  Armitage. 

"  Here,  in  my  Discovery  I" 

He  had  an  attack  of  suffocation  here,  so  alarming 
that  Armitage  staggered  over  to  hold  his  head  up. 

"  Do  you  want  to  kill  yourself,  man?"  he  cried. 
For  Brantin's  haemorrhage  had  broken  forth  again, 
soaking  the  sufferer's  unclean  pyjama-jacket  and 
dabbling  the  coarse  yellowish  sheet,  and  every 
fresh  throe  brought  it  pumping  from  the  ruptured 
artery  in  clear,  bright  jets. 

"I  reckon — all  the  killing's  done — already," 
Brantin  whispered.  He  lay  quiet  and  exhausted 
a  while  longer,  the  fever  of  disease  and  the  fever 
of  frustrated  ambition  burning  one  against  the 
other  in  his  blood.  And  then  he  began  again  : 

"A  little  time — a  little  longer  time — that  was  all 
I  asked  them,  the  cursed  brutes,  the  blasted  fools  I 
Is  every  discovery  complete  at  first?  Hasn't 
Pasteur  owned  a  serum  imperfect,  and  set  to  work 
afresh,  and  never  rested  until  he  had  got  what  he 
set  out  to  get,  and  something  more?  My  dis- 
covery cures  alcoholic  nerve-inflammation  and 
alkaloid  neuritis;  the  foaming,  gnashing,  yelling 
drink  or  drug-maniac,  strapped  on  the  bed,  be- 
comes a  sane  man  or  a  sane  woman  again.  But 
with  the  hatred  for  the  stuff, — the  loathing  of  it  that 
resulted  in  ruin  for  the  discoverer, — that  made 
the  Syndicate  tell  me  to  take  my  Formula  to  the 


go        THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN 

Church  Temperance  Societies,  or  to  Hell,  and  kick 
me  out  into  the  gutter.  Ah,  but  wait!  A  little 
time  to  live  and  make  some  fresh  experiments,  and 
they  shall  see.  Whisper,  Sucker,  this  isn't  a  thing 
to  be  said  too  loud — the  next  combination  of 
chlorides  will  cure,  and  leave  the  appetite  for 
alcohol  or  morphia  unaltered!  Isn't  that  great? 
My  new  race  of  drunkards  and  druggards  will  be 
immune  against  the  poison — given  ability  to  in- 
dulge their  crave  to  the  top  of  their  bent,  while 
remaining  outwardly  sane,  temperate  human 
beings.  Isn't  that  colossal?  Isn't  that  a  notion 
most  too  big  to  be  covered  by  one  man's  brain- 
pan ?  Think  how  they'll  hand  over  their  wads  for 
my  Second  Formula,  administered  hypodermically 
and  by  the  electric  battery,  at  my  Head  Centre  for 
the  Treatment,  by  men  sworn  to  secrecy  and  paid 
to  keep  their  knowledge  to  themselves  !  Think  of 
me  grown  richer  than  Vanderbilt  or  Rockfeller, 
crowned  Emperor  of  all  the  temperate  topers  and 
sober  sots,  and  moral  morphiamaniacs  in  the 
world!" 

He  clawed  out  a  ghastly  hand  as  though  to  reach 
for  the  sceptre  of  his  hellish  kingdom,  and  fell  back 
gurgling.  The  end  had  come  to  this  man,  so  great 
and  so  infamous,  who  had  forever  benefited  the 
human  race  in  the  endeavour  to  degrade  it  yet  lower 
than  its  lowest. 

"Pray  for  me,  curse  you!"  the  dying  man 
moaned,  shaking,  and  holding  to  the  bed-rail. 


THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN        91 

Allan  Armitage,  aspirant  to  Holy  Orders,  stood 
over  Brantin  and  looked  in  his  dreadful  eyes  with 
hollow  blue  ones,  burning  with  the  flame  that 
Faith  kindles  in  the  souls  of  men. 

"  Give  me  your  secret  to  use  for  God,"  he  said 
solemnly,  "  and  I  will  pray,  and  it  may  be  that  He 
will  listen  to  my  prayer!" 

The  other  jerked  out  a  string  of  foul  black 
curses. 

"  So  you've  showed  your  hand,  Sucker — have 
you?  You'd  bunco  me,  would  you?  You'd  hold 
me  up  and  rob  me,  on  the  very  brink  of  Hell  ?  But 
no!  I've  strength  enough  .  .  .  you'll  see!" 

The  claw-like  fingers  tore  in  frenzy  at  the  pocket- 
book,  and  failed  to  open  it;  and  Brantin  howled 
like  a  beast  and  lifted  it  to  his  mouth,  and  tried  to 
worry  at  the  strap-buckle  with  his  teeth. 

"Man,  man!"  cried  Armitage,  quivering  and 
panting  in  his  own  deadly  weakness.  "  I  am  not 
going  to  rob  you  !  .  .  .  Tell  me  to  burn  that  paper 
you  have  there  when  you  are  dead,  and  I  will 
faithfully  carry  out  your  will.  But  think,  think  ! 
— this  may  be  your  sole  chance — not  of  atonement, 
for  how  could  such  an  act  atone  for  a  life  that  has 
been,  from  early  manhood  to  middle  age,  an  insult 
flaunted  in  the  Face  of  your  Maker?  But  of 
restitution.  Whether  you  go  to  Hell  or  whether 
you  do  not,  return  this  one  gift  of  God's  to  Him 
before  He  summons  you.  Give  me  that  discovery 
of  yours  to  use  in  His  name  for  the  good  of  miser- 


92 

able,  debauched,  degraded  humanity,  and  I  swear 
to  you,  upon  the  Cross  of  my  Redeemer,  that  the 
profits— if  there  are  any— shall  be  scrupulously  paid 
over  to  your  children !  Are  their  names  and 
addresses  in  that  book?" 

Sight  was  going.  The  eyes  of  the  dying  man 
were  like  faded  negatives  of  eyes.  A  harsh  rattle 
came  by  way  of  assent. 

"Then  give  me  the  Formula,"  said  Allan 
Armitage,  "and  may  God  so  deal  with  me  and 
mine  as  I  deal  with  you  and  yours !" 

The  groping  hand  and  the  sightless  eyes  sought 
for  the  legacy  in  vain.  Armitage  guided  the  cold 
wet  hand. 

"  Take  it,"  said  the  rattling,  choking  voice,  "  and 
remember.  ...  It's  damnation  for  you  ...  if 
you  don't  keep  .  .  .  word  !  Now  pray  !" 

Allan  Armitage  fell  upon  his  thin  knees  by  the 
bedside  and  lifted  up  his  feeble  voice  in  interces- 
sion for  the  spotted  soul. 

Quivering  in  every  wasted  limb  and  bathed  in 
the  sweat  of  his  own  deadly  weakness,  he  ended 
for  lack  of  breath.  Brantin's  eyes  were  already 
fixed  and  sightless,  but  a  laugh  of  ghastly  mockery 
was  on  his  swollen  blue  lips,  and  speech  came  from 
them,  struggling  and  disjointed,  but  yet  to  be 
understood. 

"No  ...  use,  Sucker !  I've  played  my  last  .  .  . 
hand  against  .  .  .  Almighty  God  .  .  .  and  He 
has  .  .  .  euchred  me  just  as  I  was  crying  game  !  .  .  . 


THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN         93 

For  I  wrote  the  Formula  out  in  Mark  ...  to  hold 
it  safer  .  .  .  and  .  .  .  unless  they  teach  thieves' 
shorthand  at  your  English  Universities  ...  I 
reckon  it's  as  good  as  burned.  Quick  !  Prop  me 
up  ...  give  me  a  pencil  .  .  .  paper  !  .  .  .  I'll  show  .  .  . 
Damn  this  dying  !  Men  like  me  ought  to  live  at 
least  as  long  as  ...  gray  parrots  ...  or  elephant 
bulls." 

The  pencil  trailed  feebly  over  the  paper,  the 
blind  eyes  strove  in  vain  to  see.  Something  seemed 
to  strike  the  hand  aside,  and  the  body  fell  over, 
there  was  a  spasm,  and  so  began  the  final  struggle. 
Life  went  out  like  a  wasted  candle-flame  as  grey 
dawn  came  peeping  through  the  slatted  shutters 
of  Kellerbusch's  Farm,  and  Allan  Armitage,  sick 
and  shuddering,  rose  up  from  beside  the  degraded 
corpse  of  the  miserable  wretch  to  whom  the  civilised 
world  of  to-day  owns  itself  in  debt. 


II. 

Allan  Armitage  lived  to  leave  Kellerbusch's. 
When  he  went  he  carried  with  him  the  black 
strapped  pocket-book  that  was  so  important  a 
property  in  the  grim  tragedy  that  played  itself  out 
when  the  New  York  doctor  died. 

Pasted,  for  security,  upon  the  marbled  inner  cover 
of  the  pocket-book,  which  had  been  stripped  of  all 
the  perforated  blank  leaves  it  once  contained,  was 


94         THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN 

a  quarter-sheet  of  cheap  coarse  note  covered  with 
rude  figures  and  uncouth  signs,  heavily  scored  into 
the  soft  paper  with  a  thick  indelible  pencil.  A 
couple  of  yellowed  letters  in  an  inner  pocket, 
addressed  to  a  name  that  presumably  had  belonged 
to  the  deceased  owner  of  the  pocket-book,  threw 
no  light  upon  the  rough  puzzle  over  which 
Armitage  racked  his  brain  until  he  became 
oblivious  of  the  sufferings  of  his  body. 

Perhaps  the  late  graduate  of  Holybourne  had 
never  really  suffered  from  tuberculosis.  At  any 
rate  the  symptoms  of  that  fell  disease  were  checked 
in  Armitage.  He  ceased  to  sweat  and  be  feverish 
o'  nights,  his  hacking  cough  was  eased,  his  staring 
bones  were  clothed  with  wholesome  flesh.  You  are 
to  see  the  man  newly  made  over,  in  the  endeavour 
to  find  the  key  to  a  cipher  that  Transatlantic  and 
Colonial  sports  and  criminals  and  convicts  employ, 
and  know  by  the  name  of  Mark. 

What  of  Mark  ? 

It  is  a  primitive  and  grotesque,  and  absurdly 
simple  form  of  secret  writing,  and  yet,  like  all  in- 
ventions of  the  illiterate,  it  admirably  serves  its  end. 
It  consists  in  reducing  the  ordinary  alphabet  of 
twenty-six  letters  and  a  symbol  to  nine  common 
marks.  By  differentiating  the  marks  each  pair  or 
group  or  gang  of  users  may  have  a  separate,  and 
peculiar,  cipher.  But  usually  the  nine  common 
signs  are  as  follows  : 

iotAVn-u< 


THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN        95 

Each  sign,   used  singly,   duplicated  and  tripli- 
cated, conveys  three  letters  of  the  alphabet.   Thus  : 


A 

B 

C 

D 

E 

F 

1 

II 

III 

O 

00 

OOO 

G 

H 

I 

J 

K 

L 

t 

ft 

-H+ 

A 

AA 

AAA 

and  so  on.  .  .  . 

Nothing  can  be  baser,  more  uncouth  or  more 
degraded,  than  this  cipher.  It  bears  the  same  rela- 
tion to  ordinary  caligraphy  that  the  mouthings  of 
the  dumb  bear  to  the  speech  of  the  trained  orator. 
But  it  admirably  serves  the  turn  of  those  who  use  it. 

It  kept  the  dead  sinner's  secret  closer  than  he 
sought,  and  yet  the  Formula  hidden  in  the  vulgar 
repetitions  of  rude  symbols,  wrought  a  miracle  of 
healing,  and  sent  the  Reverend  Allan  Armitage 
back  to  the  old  country,  a  thinnish  but  fairly  sound 
young  Briton.  He  did  not  again  take  up  his  hoe 
and  toil  in  the  Vineyard  of  the  Missionary.  He 
settled  down  at  a  big  leather-covered  desk  in  the 
Reading  Room  of  the  British  Museum  Library, 
and  breathing  the  old  familiar  atmosphere,  flavoured 
with  Russia -leather  bindings,  hot -pressed  rag 
paper,  paste  and  second-hand  clothes,  knew  content 
at  last  in  the  study  of  exhaustive  treatises  on  Secret 
Writing,  Ancient  and  Modern. 

But  the  treatises  of  the  cryptographic  experts  and 
the  scholia  of  their  critics  did  not  aid  Armitage. 


96         THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN 

The  afforded  examples  of  ciphers  employed  by 
thieves,  and  tramps,  and  vagrants  threw  a  false  mis- 
leading glimmer  upon  the  tangled  path.  There 
came  a  time  when  he  knew  despair,  and  nearly 
burned  the  black-strapped  pocket-book  in  the  smoky 
fireplace  of  his  shabby  bed-sitting-room  in  Great 
Titchfield  Street,  W.C.  But  he  did  not  burn  it, 
because  the  restless  spirit  of  the  New  York  doctor 
plucked  at  his  shabby  pepper-and-salt  tweed  sleeve, 
or  because  his  good  Angel  was  on  duty.  He  thrust 
the  pocket-book  back  into  the  inner  breast-pocket 
of  his  shabby  Norfolk  jacket,  and  threw  on  the  felt- 
basin  hat  dear  to  the  theological  student's  soul,  and 
blundered  down  the  steep  linoleum-covered  stairs 
and  plunged  into  the  great  spinning  whirlpool  of 
gray  mysterious  London. 

It  was  the  October  of  1902 — the  fall  of  the  year 
that  saw  the  end  of  the  South  African  War.  A 
pleasant  scent  of  autumn  leaves,  coming  from  the 
gardens  of  the  old-fashioned  squares  and  the  more 
distant  parks,  was  drowned  in  fumes  of  petrol  as 
the  smelly  motor-cars  of  that  remote  era  buffled  and 
hooted  by.  Armitage  got  mechanically  into  a  four- 
wheeler,  and  was  carried  to  the  door  of  his  last 
hope,  a  man  who  had  given  the  best  years  of  his 
life  to  the  study  of  secret  writing. 

He  found  his  man  to  be  ominously  disengaged, 
and  was  admitted  to  his  study.  The  tracing  of 
Brantin's  Formula  lay  upon  the  blotting-pad,  and 
the  fine  contemptuous  smile  that  curved  the  thin 


THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN        97 

lips  of  the  cryptographist  struck  death  to  Armi- 
tage's  last  hope,  even  before  the  words  came : 

"  These  signs  do  not  suggest  any  kind  of  crypto- 
graph with  which  I  happen  to  be  acquainted.  For 
one  thing,  they  are  not  arranged  with  any  method 
or  regularity,  but  haphazard,  and  no  interpretation 
that  I  can  bring  to  bear  upon  them  will  bear  out 
the  supposition  of  their  being  a  prescription  either 
in  Latin,  Greek,  Hebrew  or  Arabic,  or  any  other 
language,  living  or  dead,  with  which  I  happen  to  be 
acquainted.  Scan  these  signs  from  right  to  left, 
from  left  to  right,  sideways  or  reversed;  they  will 
only  convey  one  meaning,  and  that  is  Nothing. 
The  paper  might  contain  a  private  cipher,  of 
course,  but  without  the  key"  —  the  scholar 
shrugged  his  lean  shoulders — "  it  might  just  as  well 
be  what  I  think  it,  the  meaningless  scribble  of  a 
lunatic." 

Armitage's  jaw  dropped.  He  mechanically  took 
the  yellow-paper  tracing  from  the  thin  cold  fingers 
that  tendered  it  back  to  him.  The  "  meaningless 
scribble  of  a  lunatic"  had  meant  such  volumes  to 
him.  He  had  seemed  to  himself  to  be  the  bearer  of 
a  sealed  vial  containing  a  priceless  gift  of  God  to 
suffering,  sinning  Humanity.  Only  a  little  thing 
prevented  the  breaking  of  the  seal,  and  the  out- 
flowing of  the  miraculous  tide  of  healing  upon  the 
stricken,  perishing  world.  Only  such  a  little 
thing.  .  .  .  The  learned  pandit,  even  in  his  secret 
anxiety  to  get  rid  of  this  crank-brained  young 

7 


g8         THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN 

intruder  and  devote  himself  to  the  Punic  inscription 
that  offered  a  crackable  nut  to  his  learned  facility, 
knew  a  faint  thrill  of  pity  as  he  read  the  blank 
despair  in  Armitage's  face. 

"  You  are  very  much  depressed  by  my  unfavour- 
able opinion.  You  really  believe  that  there  was — 
something — in  this?" 

He  tapped  the  tracing  with  a  leaden-hued  finger- 
nail, and  Armitage  said  huskily,  with  the  bitter  salt 
of  tears  stinging  his  eyes  : 

"  I  believed  there  was  something  in  it !" 

Red  blood  sprang  into  his  white  cheeks,  the  fire 
of  enthusiasm  blazed  in  his  eyes,  his  thin  sweet 
voice  gained  something  of  its  lost  power.  "The 
blight  of  modern  civilisation,  the  madness  of  the  age, 
the  misery  of  millions  upon  millions,  the  degenera- 
tion and  damnation  of  millions  upon  millions  more. 
...  I  believed  the  cure  for  them  would  be  found  in 
that  writing,  the  legacy  of  a  sinner  left  to  me  in 
trust  for  Heaven.  By  its  aid  I  hoped  to  strike  a 
blow  at  the  root  of  Intemperance  throughout  this 
world,  that  God  made  so  beautiful,  and  men  have 
made  so  hideous.  And  the  sot  and  the  toper  and  the 
debauched  were  to  have  risen  up  and  blessed  me, — 
cured  of  their  fatal  craving,  freed  from  the  dominion 
of  drugs  and  the  curse  of  Drink — for  ever  1" 

"  Ah  !"  said  the  scholar,  with  a  narrowing  of  his 
pale  eyes.  "Quite  an  Utopian  vision — quite  so. 
And  I  have  dissipated  the  illusion.  I  regret  it  of 


THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN         99 

"Regret  nothing,  sir,"  said  Armitage  almost 
roughly,  "  for  I  believe  still !" 

He  took  leave,  and  went  out  from  among  the 
scholar's  Oriental  manuscripts  and  written  stones, 
upon  the  even  more  eloquent  pavements  of  London. 
As  he  walked  he  held  the  black  strapped  pocket- 
book  close  against  his  heart.  We  love  so  passion- 
ately that  for  which  we  have  suffered. 

It  was  five  o'clock  upon  a  Wednesday  afternoon, 
and  crowds  of  well-dressed  women,  sparsely 
sprinkled  with  men,  were  pouring  out  of  the  West 
End  theatres.  Armitage  was  involved  by  an  eddy 
of  the  throng  pouring  through  the  doors  of  a 
fashionable  Regent  Street  teashop,  and  swept  in 
with  them.  Smart,  fashionable  Society  women, 
and  pretty,  well-bred  looking  young  girls,  were  all 
screaming  together  as  they  pecked  at  the  dishes  of 
bonbons  and  Viennese  pastry  like  a  flock  of  paro- 
quets revelling  in  the  branches  of  a  tree  of  ripe  fruit. 

The  waitresses  were  all  busy.  Armitage, 
conscious  of  hunger  and  thirst,  moved  between  the 
crowded  tables  to  give  an  order  at  the  counter, 
where  ladies,  young  and  old,  were  standing  four 
deep.  A  young  girl,  fair  and  grey-eyed,  with  an 
exquisite  wealth  of  pale  yellow  hair  woven  in  a 
massive  plait,  and  tied  with  a  black  ribbon,  smiled 
slyly  at  another  girl  of  the  same  age,  under  the 
curved  brim  and  drooping  plume  of  her  hat,  as 
she  stretched  her  hand  to  take  a  teacup  from  the 
woman  behind  the  counter. 


ioo       THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN 

The  cup  was  half  full  of  a  bright  amber  liquid. 
A  familiar  peaty  odour  greeted  Armitage's  nostrils. 
It  was  raw  whisky  these  Society  women  and  girls 
were  drinking,  not  tea.  At  meals  they  would  use 
mineral  water,  possibly  tinged  with  claret.  But  at 
other  times.  .  .  . 

A  distinguished  West  End  physician,  specialist 
in  obscure  nervous  derangements,  and  well-known 
to  Armitage,  had  many  patients  among  this  class. 
One  would  deem  herself  to  be  suffering  from 
neuritis,  another  would  lay  claim  to  some  un- 
diagnosed  disease  of  the  digestive  organs.  And  if 
the  man  of  medicine  bluntly  told  them  the  real 
nature  of  their  complaint  they  would  deny  it ;  and 
so,  with  anger  in  their  eyes,  and  falsehoods  on  their 
lips,  or  sarcasms  aimed  at  the  proneness  of  the 
medical  Faculty  to  travel  in  a  beaten  groove,  depart, 
to  seek  another  man  who  avoided  the  telling  of  un- 
pleasant truths. 

"So,  I  don't  tell  them  the  truth  at  all,"  the 
narrator  had  ended.  "  Why  should  I  send  them  to 
the  other  man  ?  I  sympathise,  and  say  they  have 
got  whatever  they  fancy  most,  and  throw  in  bromide 
and  nux-vomica  in  sherry.  The  other  man  could 
do  no  more.  Why  should  I  send  them  to  him  ?" 

Armitage  had  despised  the  physician  only  less 
than  his  patients  at  the  time.  Now  his  heart  held 
out  hands  of  pity  to  these  his  sisters  young  and 
old,  bearing  upon  their  shoulders  the  burden  that 
his  hand  might  never  unloose.  The  blue-eyed 


THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN       101 

seventeen-year-old  with  the  apple-blossom  face, 
smiling  at  her  girl  friend  over  her  half-tea-cup  of 
undiluted  whisky,  how  long  would  it  be  before  she 
came  knocking  at  the  bland  physician's  door?  The 
memory  of  her  face  went  with  Armitage  through 
the  streets  of  the  West  End  that  were  lighted 
brilliantly  now,  and  crowded  with  men  and  women 
in  search  of  pleasure,  and  women  and  men  who 
were  in  search  of  other  things.  Bread  and  money, 
revenge  or  knowledge,  but  Death  at  the  end  of  all. 

Night  came  as  Armitage  still  tramped  the  West  End 
streets.  The  public  and  private  drinking-bars  were 
packed,  the  cells  of  the  police-stations  were  gorged 
to  repletion  with  the  grosser  drunkenness  that  is 
seen  of  men,  and  knows  no  art  of  masking  the  vice 
that  has  stamped  its  image  on  its  votaries.  The 
clubs,  small  and  great,  aristocratic  or  plebeian,  and 
the  restaurants  and  the  wine  and  spirit  purveyors, 
and  the  grocers  who  held  licences  for  the  retail  of 
liquor,  did  colossal  business  beyond  all  record. 
Ah  !  and  in  every  chemist's  window,  gorgeous  with 
glass  cases  displaying  a  multi-coloured  array  of 
little  boxes  and  little  bottles,  you  might  read,  if 
you  had  eyes  to  see,  great  riches  gathered  in,  and 
daily  augmenting,  in  the  supply,  to  the  rabid 
appetite  so  hideously  possessing  men  and  women, 
of  the  sure  and  certain  means  of  physical,  mental, 
and  spiritual  ruin  and  death. 


102       THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN 

.II. 

Some  great  chemical  product  companies  that  kept 
these  pharmacies  supplied,  catered  indefatigably  for 
every  rank  and  every  class.  The  servant-girl  and 
the  shop-assistant,  the  overworked  clerk  and  the 
valet  who  had  been  kept  up  all  night  waiting  for  his 
master,  could  buy  for  a  penny  or  so  neat  little 
powders  of  veronal,  or  some  other  dangerous 
hypnotic,  warranted  to  charm  away  headache  and 
depression,  and  pick-me-ups  of  the  latest  American 
brand. 

You  could  be  supplied  gratis  with  gilt  leather- 
bound  alphabetical  lists  of  ailments,  supplemented 
by  their  advertised  remedies  in  the  form  of  tablets 
or  jujubes  or  lozenges,  containing  powerful  medica- 
ments, and  essential  oils,  made  palatable  with  sugar 
and  sweet  gums.  For  richer  people,  who  could 
afford  to  pay  more,  there  were  all  the  resources  of 
hypodermic  medication.  With  a  whole  gamut  of 
drugs  at  hand,  fiendish  fantasias  could  be  played 
upon  the  human  brain  and  nervous  system,  involv- 
ing collapse  and  wreck  of  the  whole  fabric  in  the 
shortest  space  of  time. 

You  could  obtain  the  most  complete,  compact, 
and  convenient  little  equipments  for  the  ruin  of 
body  and  mind,  in  elegant  little  cases  of  fancy 
leather,  nickel-plated  metal  or  aluminium,  gun- 
metal  or  chased  silver  or  gold,  small  enough  to  be 
hung  upon  the  chatelaine  or  carried  in  the  waist- 


THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN       103 

coat  pocket.  These  containing  from  five  to  fifteen 
tubes  of  highly  concentrated  poisons,  a  set  of  hollow 
gold  needles,  a  flask  of  distilled  water  for  making 
solutions,  and  a  syringe  of  the  newest  patented 
design. 

For  people  who  minded  expense  not  at  all,  or 
who  found  it  necessary  to  conceal  an  acquired  and 
deadly  habit  from  anxious,  watchful  eyes,  the 
companies  offered  a  marvel  of  delicate  devilish 
workmanship  in  the  shape  of  a  tiny  gold  and 
jewelled  medicine -chest,  fitted  with  miniature 
bottles  containing  possibly  a  hundred  doses  of 
intoxicants,  soporifics,  hypnotics,  or  stimulants  in 
the  most  highly-concentrated  form.  You  wore  this 
upon  a  chain  as  a  locket,  or  on  a  bangle  as  a  porte- 
bonheur,  or  as  a  charm  upon  a  watch-guard.  There 
was  a  golden,  jewel-set  syringe  to  match,  that  fitted 
into  a  ring. 

Wonderful  was  the  variety  of  drugs  offered  to  a 
world  desirous  of  poisoning  itself.  Not  only  chloro- 
form, Indian  hemp,  morphia  and  cocaine,  but 
aconitine,  hyoscine,  atropine,  and  the  strychnine 
sulphates.  With  many  others. 

And  if  you  were  nervous  about  administering 
them  hypodermically  to  yourself,  some  chemists 
kept  skilled  assistants  who  would  load  you  up  and 
save  you  the  trouble — for  a  fee. 

***** 

The  hours  were  shrinking  small.  The  restaurants 
and  public  houses  closed  one  by  one.  Only  the 


104       THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN 

chemists'  shops  and  drug-stores  remained  open. 
A  stream  of  turbid  life  rolled  down  the  pavements 
of  Piccadilly,  and  swarmed  over  the  asphalte  that 
was  then  enclosed  in  places  by  the  rough  hoardings 
of  the  Tube  works.  In  the  electric  light  the  faces  of 
the  buyers  as  of  the  sellers  of  flesh  were  clay-blue. 
The  central  patch  of  rouge  upon  painted  cheeks 
showed  as  purplish-brown.  And  the  great  glass 
bottles  in  the  windows  of  the  chemists'  shops  and 
drug-stores  threw  prismatic  rays  upon  those  passing 
faces,  and  stretched  out  multi-coloured  tentacles 
towards  them  as  if  to  seize  and  drag  them  in. 

Armitage,  heated  and  weary  now,  entered  a 
chemist's  shop  where  there  was  an  iced-soda 
fountain,  and  ordered  and  emptied  a  glassful  of  the 
cool,  fizzing  drink.  As  he  handed  back  the  empty 
tumbler,  a  well-appointed  horse-drawn  brougham 
stopped  outside  the  shop.  Three  ladies  occupied 
the  carriage,  two  young,  one  elderly  and  white- 
haired.  All  were  in  theatre-wraps,  their  heads 
draped  with  lace  scarfs. 

A  young  lady  got  out,  spoke  to  the  box-coated, 
cockaded  servant  who  helped  her  to  alight,  and 
came  rustling  into  the  shop.  She  was  pale  and 
slender  and  black-haired  and  very  pretty.  Diamond 
stars  scintillated  through  her  draping  laces,  the 
neck  of  her  furred  wrap,  a  little  open,  showed  a 
superb  pendant  of  diamonds  and  rubies  glowing 
and  blazing  on  her  thin  white  bosom,  her  attenu- 
ated white  hand,  holding  her  plumed  fan  and  the 


THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN       105 

opera-glass  in  its  embroidered  silk  case,  was  laden 
with  costly  jewelled  rings. 

She  looked  haggard  and  her  dark  eyes  had  weary 
shadows  round  them.  They  rested  on  the  flaunt- 
ing women  at  the  shop-end,  and  withdrew  in  evident 
disgust.  She  paid  no  heed  to  Armitage,  but  spoke 
in  low  quick  tones  to  the  chemist,  a  grey-whiskered 
fatherly  individual  who  listened  respectfully,  bend- 
ing his  sleek  bald  head.  Evidently  the  lady  was  a 
well-known  customer  of  the  establishment. 

"Please  be  quick!  ...  I  have  only  a 
moment.  .  .  ." 

"Certainly,  madam.     Have  you  the — ahem  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes  !     How  stupid  of  me  !" 

She  drew  a  little  jewelled  amulet-case  from  its 
hiding-place  within  her  dress,  and  unfastened  it 
from  its  fine  gold  chain.  Her  hand  shook,  and  she 
glanced  over  her  shoulder  to  make  sure  that  the 
mother  and  sister  who  were  waiting  in  the  brougham 
showed  no  intention  of  following  her  into  the  shop. 
The  chemist  turned  aside  to  fill  the  little  case  with 
miniature  bottles  containing  tiny  white  tablets. 
He  was  quick,  but  hardly  quick  enough  for 
her. 

"Thank  you,  oh  !  thank  you  !"  Her  eyes  were 
fastened  on  the  chemist's  deft  fingers  packing  the 
tiny  bottles  in  their  places  with  accustomed  skill. 
"You  have  nearly  finished?" 

"Very  nearly,  madam."  As  he  gave  her  the 
little  case,  he  leaned  forward  across  the  counter  to 


io6       THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN 

ask  in  a  solicitous  undertone  :  "  And  the  Captain  ? 
May  I  ask,  is  there  any  news?" 

A  spasm  wrung  her  pretty,  miserable  face.  She 
shook  her  head  sadly. 

"  No,  no  news  !  We — we  thought — we  hoped — 
he  might  be  found  at  Wanderton  with  other  English 
officers  who  were  prisoners  there.  We — we  were 

disappointed,  there  was  no  trace "     Her  voice 

rose  in  a  breathless  cry:    "Oh,   for  God's  sake, 
don't  ask  me  any  more  !" 

She  fled  out  of  the  shop,  passing  a  tall,  middle- 
aged  man  who  lifted  his  hat  with  courtesy  as  the 
shrinking  figure  rustled  by  in  its  laces  and  silks. 
He  had  only  accorded  the  politeness  to  a  stranger, 
he  did  not  know  her  at  all.  The  heavy  overcoat 
that  covered  his  evening  clothes,  a  costly  garment 
lined  with  Persian  lamb,  was  unbuttoned;  a  white 
silk  muffler  protected  his  throat,  and  guarded  his 
immaculate  shirt-front  from  soil.  He  had  upon 
him  the  stamp  of  the  prosperous  physician,  and  the 
lines  upon  his  ravaged,  still  handsome  face  bespoke 
him  a  viveur.  His  harsh  and  laboured  breathing 
and  the  bluish  hue  of  his  skin,  told  Armitage  some- 
thing else. 

The  newcomer,  who  walked  feebly  and  wearily, 
nodded  to  the  chemist,  whose  face  seemed  suddenly 
to  have  been  painted  white,  as  he  turned  to  a  locked 
cupboard-compartment  in  the  rows  of  gilt  lettered 
drawers  behind  him,  and  took  out  a  blue  glass  vial. 
His  hand  shook  a  little  as  he  set  the  vial  on  the 


THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN       107 

counter,  with  a  decanter  of  distilled  water  and  a 
graduated  glass.  But  the  habit  of  his  profession 
prevailed,  and  he  was  as  bland  as  ever. 

He  asked  a  question  in  a  low  tone.  The  customer 
answered,  and  watched  with  a  curious  intensity  as 
the  chemist  unstoppered  the  vial,  liberating  a 
strong  odour  of  bitter  almonds,  and  dropped,  with 
infinite  precision  and  care,  fifteen  drops  into  the 
glass.  To  this  he  added  a  proportion  of  distilled 
water,  handed  the  mixture  to  his  client, — and  waited, 
breathlessly,  and  with  that  white,  scared  look,  to  see 
him  drink  it  down. 

The  customer  tossed  off  the  draught.  Then, 
within  the  instant,  a  change  was  wrought  in  him. 
His  haggard  face  took  life  and  colour,  his  eyes 
brightened,  he  drew  a  long  deep  breath,  squared 
his  shoulders,  smiled  pleasantly  at  the  nervous 
chemist,  threw  down  two  half-crowns  on  the 
counter,  and  walked  out  of  the  shop,  a  new  man, 
to  embark  upon  the  pleasures  of  the  night  that  now 
began  for  him.  The  chemist  swept  the  cash  into 
the  till,  and  as  he  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his 
bald  forehead,  he  glanced  sharply  at  Armitage. 

But  Armitage's  face  said  nothing,  and  the 
chemist  mopped  his  own  once  more  and  turned 
with  a  will  to  the  business  of  the  evening.  His 
partner,  or  a  principal  assistant,  seemed  to  sit  at 
the  receipt  of  special  custom  in  a  parlour  that  was 
behind  the  shop,  and  had  a  door  with  ground-glass 
panels  in  the  upper  half  of  it. 


io8       THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN 

A  few  of  the  customers  who  crossed  the  parlour- 
threshold  were  men,  but  ninety  per  cent,  were 
women  of  Fran9ois  Villon's  liberal  sisterhood. 
And  whereas  they  went  in  dim-eyed  and  drawn, 
and  haggard  under  their  rouge,  with  the  weariness 
of  vice,  they  came  out  as  though  newly  stamped 
in  the  Mint  of  Pleasure,  stooping  on  the  threshold 
of  the  morphia-den  to  fasten  their  silken  garters, 
or  pulling  up  their  long  gloves  over  the  marks  of 
the  piqure,  hailing  their  female  friends  and  their 
male  acquaintances  with  gay,  empty  peals  of 
laughter  and  rattling  volleys  of  chaff  and  slang. 
Armitage's  heart  bled  for  them  as  they  ordered 
fresh  pick-me-ups  and  sucked  down  their  poisons, 
and  shouted  and  screamed  and  frolicked  and 
cursed.  "  Ah,  poor  brothers  !  Ah,  poor  sisters  !" 
he  thought,  "  in  whose  veins,  in  common  with  how 
many  others,  burns  and  rankles  the  accursed  crav- 
ing. No  hope  for  you,  no  help  for  you,  any  more 
than  for  the  rest !" 

He  pushed  through  the  crowd  of  seekers  after  for- 
getfulness,  gained  the  streets,  and  turned  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Strand.  He  wearied  again  after  a  while 
and  went  into  a  gilt  and  tile-lined  saloon,  ordered 
a  lemon-squash  and  sat  at  a  little  marble-topped 
table  with  his  back  against  a  delicately-wrought 
frieze  of  sporting  loves  and  exquisite  nude  nymphs, 
watching  the  American  bar-tender,  a  moustached 
person  clad  in  immaculate  white  drills,  with  blaz- 
ing diamond  studs  and  cuff-links,  mix  drinks  of 


THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN       109 

marvellous  components  and  nomenclature,  with 
no  less  marvellous  dexterity;  turning  when  not 
actively  engaged  in  tossing  mixtures  of  liquors 
from  one  tall  glass  to  another,  to  make  rough 
entries  of  owed-for  drinks  on  a  white  transparent 
slate  hanging  from  a  brass  hook  against  the 
pictured  wall  behind  him. 

One  moment  Armitage  sat,  listlessly  watching  the 
coarse  jewelled  hand  that  moved  the  chewed  pencil- 
butt  clumsily  over  the  opaque  white  surface,  and  at 
the  next,  with  a  sudden  strange  leap  and  thrill  of 
recognition,  and  a  stranger  sense  of  awe,  he  rose 
from  his  seat,  moved  to  the  long  glittering  counter, 
and  said  : 

"  Excuse  what  may  appear  to  you  an  inquisitive 
question — but — those  marks  convey  some  private 
meaning?" 

"  Guess  so  !"  admitted  the  bar-tender,  nettled  by 
the  brusque  tone  of  authority,  and  the  direct  gaze 
of  Armitage's  clear  grey  eyes. 

"It  is  a  cipher  that  is  not  generally  known?" 
continued  Armitage. 

"I — guess — not!"  drawled  the  bar-tender,  con- 
tributing generously  to  his  private  spittoon. 
Armitage  put  another  question. 

"The  cipher  is  more  particularly  employed  by 
a  certain  class  of  men  ?  Most  particularly  your 
own  class?" 

"  I — reckon,"  said  the  bar-tender,  deliberately 
prolonging  his  inflections,  as  though  he  were 


i io       THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN 

trickling  molasses  from  a  ladle,  "as  — yew- 
might— find— about  a— score— of  individooals— in 
—  this  —  yer  city  —  as  —  are  —  capperble — of— con- 
vey in  '—their— private  —  idees— in— Mark— if— yew 
— was  lucky." 

"  Thank  you.  The  cipher  is  known  as  '  Mark,' ' 
said  Armitage,  mentally  registering  it.  He  drew 
out  a  note-case,  took  from  it  a  ten  pound  note  of 
the  Bank  of  England,  and  laid  it  on  the  nickel 
counter.  "This  is  at  your  disposal  if  you  will 
teach  it  to  me  1" 

"Guess  I  got  no  time,"  said  the  bar-tender, 
dropping  his  drawl  and  giving  a  sulky  wag  of  his 
blue-shaven  chin,  "to  waste  actin'  as  school  marm 
to  Britishers."  He  went  on  with  his  occupation 
of  mixing  and  serving  drinks,  which  had  never 
been  intermitted. 

"  I  will  only  ask  you  to  supply  me  with  the 
equivalent  to  the  English  alphabet,  written  down 
in  Mark,"  said  Armitage,  masking  his  desperate 
eagerness  as  best  he  could.  "And  I  will  double 
the  pay." 

He  drew  out  another  ten  pound  note,  and  laid 
it  beside  the  first,  the  sum  representing  one- 
third  of  the  available  funds  at  the  investor's 
disposal.  But  the  bar-tender,  scenting  a  detective 
behind  the  close-shaven,  intellectual  mask  and 
under  the  worn  black  semi-clerical  attire,  shrugged 
and  went  to  the  other  end  of  the  counter.  And  he 
spoke  to  a  subordinate  there,  and  jerked  his  thumb 


THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN   in 

meaningly  towards  Armitage,  and  Armitage  moved 
out  of  the  American  bar  reluctantly,  as  a  man  who 
has  seen  his  soul's  desire  within  his  grasp  and  has 
had  it  snatched  from  him. 

His  faith  in  the  leading  of  a  Divine  Hand  was 
rudely  shaken.  Why  had  he  been  shown  the  end 
of  all  his  selfless  agony  of  seeking,  only  to  be  thrust 
forth  on  the  long  trail  again  ?  When  had  he  sought 
his  own  profit,  or  anything  but  the  welfare  of  his 
miserable  fellow  creatures?  The  question  was 
fast  sapping  the  foundations  of  reason,  when 
Armitage,  by  a  supreme  effort,  saved  himself 
in  time. 

Inquiries  later  made  through  a  private  detective 
agency  after  the  American  bar-tender,  proved  that 
expert  to  have  quitted  his  situation  in  the  Strand 
and  returned  to  his  native  New  York.  Armitage 
made  no  effort  to  trace  him.  He  even  left  off 
seeking  for  the  key  of  the  cipher  that  had  been 
within  his  reach  that  night,  when  the  linen-clad 
expert  with  the  jewelled  paws,  and  the  lacquered 
moustaches,  had  been  proof  against  his  offered 
bribe  of  twenty  pounds.  And  he  saved  himself 
from  becoming  a  crank  by  turning  chemist. 

Armitage  had  gone  through  the  usual  course  of 
science  at  the  university.  You  are  to  see  him  now 
immersed  to  the  thinning  hair  upon  his  high 
temples  in  therapeutic  chemistry,  mingling  chlor- 
ides usually  employed  in  the  treatment  of 
alcoholism  and  kindred  nervous  derangements, 


ii2       THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN 

with  others  yet  unproved,  and  experimenting,  in 
default  of  an  intemperate  subject,  upon  sober 
Armitage. 

Sober  Armitage  proving  useless  to  the  ardent 
seeker  after  enlightenment,  his  proprietor  took 
measures  to  render  him  a  fitter  subject. 

Friends,  visiting  Armitage's  rooms,  were 
scandalised  at  the  alteration  in  his  appearance 
that  gave  evidence  of  the  degrading  habit  to  which 
a  once  upright  and  temperate  young  man  had  un- 
happily become  addicted.  The  principal  of  the 
College  heard  and  wrote  to  expostulate  with  his  late 
pupil.  Armitage,  who  was  then  engaged  in  test- 
ing the  effects  upon  Armitage  of  morphia  and 
cocaine,  had  lost  the  habit  of  opening  letters,  with 
a  good  many  other  habits  that  were  even  better 
worth  keeping.  Unwashed,  unkempt,  a  moral 
ruin  and  a  physical  wreck,  he  had  drifted  beyond 
the  saving  clutch  of  his  own  great  altruistic  obses- 
sion. He  had  lost  himself  in  trying  to  save  others. 
And — as  a  spectator  might  placidly  sit  and  watch 
the  struggles  of  a  drowning  man  reproduced  per 
medium  of  the  cinematograph  —  Armitage  saw 
Armitage  going  down,  down !  into  the  grey, 
primeval  sludge,  where  human  wrecks  and  failures 
drift,  suspended  forever;  and  when  his  long-un- 
paid landlord  served  a  writ  upon  him,  and  his  few 
remaining  possessions  were  seized  for  rent,  he  rose 
up  out  of  the  tattered  armchair  where  he  spent  his 
days  and  nights,  when  he  was  not  wandering  in 


THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN       113 

those  strange  scenes,  and  wonderful  or  awful  places 
that  only  the  drunkard  and  the  druggard  know. 

The  bailiff  and  the  landlord  had  gone  through 
his  pockets  before  they  let  the  broken  creature  free. 
There  was  nothing  upon  him  but  his  dog's-eared 
Bible,  in  its  shabby  silken  case,  and  a  black 
strapped  pocket  book,  empty  save  for  two  old 
letters  and  a  bit  of  scrawled  paper  pasted  on  the 
inside  cover.  And  they  left  him  those  two  things, 
and  the  hypodermic  syringe  and  the  morphia 
tablets  that  he  cried  and  blubbered  to  be  allowed 
to  keep — both  being  charitable  men,  as  men  go. 

' '  Now,  hook  it ! "  said  the  bailiff,  who  was  old,  and 
still  employed  the  Middle  Victorian  slang  of  1859. 

"Get!"  added  the  more  modern  landlord,  con- 
tributing the  impetus  of  a  shove,  and  the  degraded 
wreck  of  Armitage  shambled  down  the  shabby 
staircase  of  the  Bloomsbury  lodgings,  and  vanished 
in  the  great  grey  whirlpool  of  London  Town. 

Betrayed  by  a  false  conviction  and  a  false  hope ; 
ruined  because  he  had  given  all  he  had  in  the  hope 
of  saving  others ;  shipwrecked  on  his  great  pro- 
ject— the  regeneration  of  alcohol  and  drug-poisoned 
men  and  women  by  the  adulteration  of  their  deterio- 
rated blood  with  an  antitoxin  ; — lost  because  he 
had  so  yearned  to  save,  you  see  Armitage  at 
the  juncture  when  he  had  forgotten  even  this, 
ministered  to  by  a  poor  fallen  woman. 

The  ground  here  calls  for  delicate  going,  Allan 
Armitage  occupying  with  justice,  at  this  moment  of 


ii4       THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN 

writing,  a  high  place  in  the  public  esteem,  and 
possessing  a  character  beyond  reproach.  His  wife, 
too — no  man,  labouring  unselfishly  in  the  vast 
Augean  stable  of  this  world,  solely  possessed  by 
the  desire  of  leaving  it  but  a  shade  or  two  cleaner 
than  he  found  it,  ever  had  a  nobler,  more  devoted 
helper.  But  virtuous,  pious  daughters  of  Mrs. 
Grundy,  dimly  cognisant  of  strange  stories  in  con- 
nection with  Mrs.  Armitage's  early  history,  with 
difficulty  restrain  the  impulse  to  pull  aside  their 
skirts  when  they  pass  her,  and  are  not  to  be  coerced 
by  husbands  into  leaving  cards.  I  might  add,  that 
as  Mrs.  Alan  Armitage  has  never  pretended  to 
their  acquaintance,  its  denial  does  not  grieve  her. 
She  is  a  pale  sweet-faced  woman  with  candid  eyes, 
and  an  inexhaustible  gift  of  sympathy  with  the 
depraved,  the  miserable,  and  the  wicked  of  her 
fellow-creatures.  This  healing  balm,  she,  even  in  her 
degraded  days,  possessed  the  art  of  giving  to  those 
who  needed  it.  And  none  was  more  in  need  than 
the  broken-down  drunkard  and  druggard  whose 
garment  of  shamefulness  was  cut  of  the  cloth  that 
deacons  are  wont  to  wear.  Magdalene  gave  him 
shelter  in  the  one  poor  room  of  her  lodging,  and 
sinned,  poor  soul !  to  keep  its  roof  above  him,  and 
to  find  him  the  wherewithal  to  pay  for  his  daily 
debauch.  One  cannot  blink  the  truth.  And 
towards  the  small  hours  of  one  morning,  while  he 
lay  almost  pulseless,  scarcely  breathing,  in  the 
trance-like  sleep  that  is  so  dearly  bought  by  the 


THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN       115 

votaries  of  morphia,  and  she,  sitting  beside  him, 
darned  and  patched  his  seedy  clothes,  the  black 
strapped  pocket-book  fell  out  of  the  torn  pocket  of 
the  dirty  old  pepper-and-salt  Norfolk  jacket,  and 
she  picked  it  up,  and  opened  it,  and  the  wheel  of 
Fate  gave  one  more  turn  for  Armitage. 

For  the  woman,  glancing  at  the  half  sheet  of 
smudgy  note-paper  heavily  scrawled  with  those  rude, 
illiterate  characters,  started  and  winced.  In  cruel 
early  days,  of  which  she  never  spoke  or  thought 
without  a  shudder,  she  had  been  forced  by  an  evil 
man,  for  some  strange  secret  reason,  known  only 
to  himself,  to  learn  to  write  and  read  Mark. 
Remembering  those  old  lessons,  burned  in  by 
blows  and  ill-usage,  she  read  now.  And  the  man 
on  the  bed,  waking,  saw  her  sitting  beside  him,  a 
good  angel  in  soiled  garments,  with  scorched  and 
broken  wings,  and  heard  her  spelling  out,  letter  by 
letter,  the  fateful  secret  that  he  had  given  health 
and  honour,  hope  and  the  esteem  of  men ;  his  own 
self-respect  and  the  favour  of  God,  to  solve,  and 
given  vainly. 

It  trickled  by  slow  degrees  from  the  dulled  ear  to 
the  drugged  brain,  the  Formula  of  Brantin.  And 
its  effect  was  miraculous.  A  touch  upon  the 
woman's  arm  brought  her  head  round,  and 
Armitage  was  sitting  up  upon  the  bed,  looking  at 
her  with  eyes  that  were  sane,  and  at  the  same  time 
the  eyes  of  a  stranger. 

"  Read  that  again  !"  he  said,  and  pointed  to  the 


n6   THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN 

black  pocket-book  that  had  slipped  from  the 
startled  woman's  fingers  into  her  lap.  "  Afterwards 
you  shall  tell  me  who  you  are  and  how  I  came 
here.  But  first,  read  that  again  !" 

The  woman  obeyed,  trembling.  Armitage 
listened,  and  a  curtain  rolled  up  in  his  brain,  and 
he  remembered  Kellerbusch's  Farm,  and  knew  that 
he  had  at  last  lighted  upon  the  discovery  of  the 
New  York  doctor.  Ay,  this  was  it !  There  were 
two  chlorides  of  two  metals,  and  you  mingled  them 
in  a  certain  proportion,  and  administered  them  by 
hypodermic  injection,  or  by  means  of  an  electric 
battery  and  pads  of  cotton-wool,  well  soaked.  It 
began  to  take  effect  by  the  third  injection  :  by  the 
seventh  day  the  patient  was  practically  cured,  in 
three  weeks  time  the  saturation  was  complete.  As 
a  result  the  nervous  centres,  once  thoroughly  im- 
pregnated with  the  Formula,  would  be  so  fortified 
against  the  attacks  of  alcohol  and  even  certain  alka- 
loid poisons,  that  these  agents  would  prove  im- 
potent when  introduced  into  the  system.  The  period 
of  immunity  would  probably  extend  over  six  years. 

Armitage  rose  up  from  the  disordered  bed,  and 
saw  a  ghastly  face  he  did  not  know  for  his  own  in 
the  cracked  and  broken  looking-glass.  But  as  the 
days  went  by,  and  the  wretched  single  room  be- 
came a  laboratory,  the  marred  and  altered  face 
began  to  show  faint  transitory  resemblances  to  what 
it  once  had  been. 


THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN       117 

For,  as  of  old,  Armitage  experimented  upon 
Armitage.  Administering  the  counter-agent  in 
subcutaneous  injections,  and  with  the  assistance  of 
his  companion,  employing  it  per  medium  of  the 
electric  battery  and  the  wetted  pad.  His  Samari- 
taness's  poor  savings  went  to  buy  the  battery,  a  bad 
little  second-hand  affair  enough,  but  it  served.  For 
a  day  came  when  Armitage  felt  the  fetters  of  his 
vice  loosen,  and  later  he  heard  them  clank,  falling 
from  his  galled  limbs  to  the  bare  floor. 

The  physical  change  in  him,  wrought  by  the 
saturation,  showed  little  outwardly.  The  outlines 
of  his  features  were  sharper  and  harder,  he  was 
conscious  of  an  added  clearness  and  lucidity  of 
mind.  He  no  longer  desired  whisky  to  the  point 
of  anguish,  his  heroic  thirst  for  the  fire-water  was 
gone.  He  drank,  and  it  had  no  more  effect  upon 
him  now  than  pure  water,  his  armour-plated  nerve- 
centres  were  now  proof  against  the  toxin  of  alcohol 
as  they  were  impervious  to  the  attacks  of  the  alka- 
loids. Morphia  had  no  result.  Cocaine  failed 
when  he  tested  the  effect  of  the  narcotic  and  the 
stimulant.  He  was  immune,  thenceforth,  for  the 
allotted  term  of  years.  When  he  knew  this  he 
rose  up  and  girded  his  loins,  and  came  up  out  of  the 
depths  of  Hell,  leading  his  good  angel  by  the  hand. 

It  wore  his  ring,  the  hand  that  had  done  so  much 
for  him.  Say,  if  you  will,  that  Armitage  degraded 
Armitage  by  such  a  union.  I  hold  that  he  honoured 
not  only  her,  but  himself. 


n8   THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN 

Ten  years  ago,  this  was.  To-day,  entering  the 
wide  vestibule  of  the  Brantin  Institute,  with  its 
statues  and  palms  and  Oriental  carpets,  and  polite, 
uniformed  attendants,  it  seems  to  the  ignorant 
stranger  that  he  has  strayed  into  a  hotel.  To  all 
intents  and  purposes  it  is  a  hotel — for  the  reception 
of  a  certain  kind  of  guest. 

You  may  see  the  guests,  men  and  women, 
coming  and  going.  The  bloated,  puffy,  degraded 
face  and  form,  and  the  burned-out  eye  of  the 
alcoholist,  are  common  to  the  majority.  The  con- 
tracted pupil,  the  uncertain  gait,  the  dreamy  self- 
absorption  or  the  highly-strung  nervous  excite- 
ment; the  degraded  personal  habits  distinctive  of 
the  slaves  of  morphia,  the  blazing  eyes,  the  jerky 
movements,  the  sudden  muscular  spasms  peculiar 
to  the  puppet  of  cocaine  :  he  sees  all  these  symptoms 
multiplied  in  a  hundred  victims,  with  others  even 
more  grotesque,  even  more  ugly  and  terrible. 

The  place  is  handsomely  appointed.  From  floor 
to  floor  go  noiseless  elevators.  There  are  reception- 
rooms  for  women,  and  smoking-rooms  for  men ; 
there  are  drawing-rooms,  reading  and  writing- 
rooms,  and  there  are  two  glass-roofed  rooms  built 
out  at  the  back,  where  patients  of  either  sex  attend 
at  stated  times,  alone,  or  in  care  of  male  or  female 
nurses,  for  the  hypodermic  and  electrical  treatment 
that  can  be  had  nowhere  else. 

Everywhere  the  foot  falls  noiselessly  on  three- 
inch  rubber,  under  thick  carpet.  Following  the 


THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN        119 

clear-eyed,  grey-haired  gentleman,  unobtrusively 
attired,  who  has  volunteered  to  be  your  guide,  you 
meet,  in  the  long  corridors,  nurses  wheeling  invalid 
chairs.  Sometimes  several  of  them  push  a  rubber- 
tyred  stretcher-bed,  on  which,  fastened  down  by 
bands  of  webbing,  and  covered  with  a  light  cloth 
from  the  curious  or  frightened  eye,  is  something 
that  whimpers  or  makes  beast-like  noises,  or 
hideously  sings  and  laughs. 

It  is  not  a  madman,  or  a  madwoman,  the  strapped- 
down  creature.  It  is  somebody  who  has,  like  every 
guest  of  this  strange  hostelry,  been  bitten  by  the 
mania  for  alcohol  or  drugs. 

None  of  the  windows  of  the  large,  airy,  well- 
ventilated  rooms  open  upon  anything  but  a  grating. 
The  chairs  are  of  bentwood,  without  sharp  angles, 
the  corners  of  the  rooms  are  rounded  off  like  the 
corners  of  the  furniture.  There  is  no  breakable 
crockery  or  glass.  The  walls  are  soundproof  and 
covered  with  indiarubber,  under  the  pretty  paper, 
like  the  floors  beneath  the  soft  carpeting.  In  one 
room  that  the  visitor  passes,  a  high-bred,  elegant, 
graciously-mannered  lady  is  entertaining  a  circle  of 
society  friends  with  brilliant  conversation.  That 
is,  she  would  be,  if  the  friends  were  there. 

In  another  room  a  young  girl  is  foaming  and 
writhing  in  terrible  convulsions,  in  another  .  .  . 

The  guest  pales  and  winces  as  he  passes  that 
door,  outside  which  two  alert,  vigorous,  grey- 
gowned,  white-capped  nurses  are  waiting,  in  case 


120       THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN 

the  attendant  within  should  call.  His  guide  takes 
him  along  the  corridor  and  through  into  the  men's 
side  of  the  Institute.  A  haggard  young  man, 
fashionably  dressed,  followed  by  a  liveried  servant 
carrying  a  hat-box  and  suit-case,  comes  up  to  the 
guide  and  shakes  him  warmly  by  the  hand. 

"I  am  cured,  Mr.  Armitage.  I  leave  here  this 
morning.  Let  me  thank  you  for  your  considerate 
kindness,  for  the  help  you  gave.  As  long  as  I 
live  I  shall  remember  this  place  with  gratitude.  I 
go  down  to  my  people  in  the  North  to-morrow,  they 
are  hardly  able  to  believe  that  I " 

He  hesitates,  but  Armitage  knows  the  end  of 
the  unfinished  sentence.  He  thanks  the  grey-haired 
man  again,  and  wrings  his  hand,  and  goes  on  his 
way  cured  and  hopeful.  And  Armitage  beckons 
the  visitor  to  follow,  and  passes  on. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  door  he  now  goes  by 
a  mother-naked  man  is  sitting  on  the  floor,  driv- 
ing an  imaginary  automobile.  In  the  recent  case 
of  the  young  embryo  Member  of  Parliament,  it 
has  been  a  splendid  coach.  Only  he  has  been  the 
vehicle,  with  a  four-in-hand  of  rampant  devils  in 
the  traces,  and  the  enemy  of  mankind  enthroned 
on  the  box-seat  as  driver  of  the  team. 

And  the  devil-driven  one  has  gone  away  cured, 
and  the  others  will  follow.  Is  not  the  Formula  of  the 
New  York  doctor  a  specific  for  the  blight  of  modern 
civilisation,  a  cure  for  the  disease  of  the  Age  ? 

And  yet  ...     It  seems  to  the  visitor  that  he 


THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN       121 

hears  somebody  laughing  behind  him.  He  turns 
and  looks  down  the  long  bright  pleasant  corridor. 
No  one  is  there. 

He  follows  his  courteous  guide  through  the  wide 
airy  corridors,  and  at  his  invitation  enters  into 
Armitage's  private  office.  The  mocking  thing  that 
dogged  his  footsteps  seems  to  have  been  left  be- 
hind. But  when  the  bell  of  the  telephone  rings,  he 
hears  it  titter  as  the  grey-haired  man  at  the  writing- 
table  takes  the  receiver  in  hand. 

"  Is  Mr.  Armitage  there  ?   I  wish  to  speak  to  him  !" 

It  is  a  voice  that  has  terror  and  despair  in  it.  Yet 
it  belongs  to  a  patient  who  went  away  cured, 
happy  and  hopeful,  a  little  while  ago.  Armitage 
answers  : 

"I,  Armitage,  am  here.  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?" 

The  frightened  voice  says,  shaking  until  the  thin 
wire  vibrates  : 

"  I  cannot  drink  or  use  drugs  any  more,  Mr. 
Armitage.  The  desire  has  gone  from  me — the 
stuff  has  no  more  effect  on  me  at  all  I" 

"You  are  henceforth  immune,"  Armitage  says. 
"  For  a  certain  space  of  years  to  come,  you  are 
inoculated  to  resist  those  influences  that  were  ruin- 
ing you.  It  is  a  great  thing  to  know  that !" 

The  scared  voice  says,  shaking  with  terror  : 

"A  great  thing,  as  you  say.  ...  A  very  great 
thing,  sir  !  But  .  .  .  what  shall  I  do  when  I  want 
to  forget?" 

Armitage  holds  the  receiver,  and  the  lines  that 


122        THE  FORMULA  OF  BRANTIN 

grief  and  care  have  ploughed  upon  his  face  show 
deeply.     He  does  not  immediately  reply. 

"Must  I  look  in  the  face  of  my  sorrow  and  my 
sin  for  years,  long  years?"  the  quavering  voice 
asks.  "  Shall  I  never  be  able  to  hide  from  myself  ?" 

"Never,"  is  the  answer,  "by  the  aid  of  alcohol 
or  drugs." 

The  desperate  voice  breaks  out  in  despairing 
curses  and  breaks  off  to  cry  :  "  Is  there  no  help? 
Is  there  no  hope?" 

"There  is  help,"  Armitage  answers,  "and  hope 
also." 

"Oh,  where?"  quavers  the  voice  in  anguish. 

"In  Christ,"  is  the  answer.  "Through  the 
Blood  that  He  shed  for  sinners  on  the  Cross  of 
Calvary." 

"  I  have  never  thought  of  Him,"  wails  the  voice. 
"  I  do  not  know  where  He  is  to  be  found !  How 
shall  I  reach  Him?" 

"Ask  my  wife,"  says  Armitage,  and  his  lined 
forehead  smoothes.  He  hangs  up  the  receiver 
with  a  smile  upon  his  careworn  face.  For  though 
the  Evangelist  has  ceased  to  preach,  the  Magdalene 
has  found  her  mission.  Mrs.  Armitage,  the  woman 
whom  virtuous  women  will  not  condescend  to  call 
upon,  has  her  compensations  and  her  uses,  and 
when  the  work  of  the  therapeutist  is  complete, 
begins  the  noble  work  of  the  woman  who  has 
washed  the  Sacred  Feet  with  tears,  and  wiped  them 
with  the  hair  of  her  head. 


DOROTEA  ET  CIE. 

I. 

THE  three  prettiest  women  in  Paris  sat  together  in 
a  boudoir  that  was  exquisitely  tinted,  and  warmly 
fragrant,  and  marvellously  furnished,  and  divinely 
draped  and  adorned  (not  crowded)  with  wonderful 
works  of  art,  and  even  then  was  only  a  perfect 
setting  for  the  loveliness  of  the  Three  Graces  it 
enshrined. 

The  Hotel  Vaubonsoir  was  one  of  the  most 
charming  houses  in  Paris,  standing  as  it  did  within 
leafy  private  gardens,  full  of  roses  and  plashing 
fountains,  near  the  entrance  of  the  Avenue  du 
Bois  de  Boulogne.  All  the  greatest  French  artists 
had  been  summoned  to  aid  in  making  it  exquisite 
within,  but  its  mistress  and  owner  was  the  loveliest 
thing  to  be  found  within  its  marble-faced  walls. 
And  she  was  Dorote"a-Maria,  the  young  and 
widowed  Duchess  of  Bellaselva.  Her  companions 
were  the  Princess  Delidoff,  an  dttgante  of  great 
beauty,  allied  by  blood  to  two  reigning  European 
monarchs.  A  royalty  of  another  kind  belonged  to 
the  third  lady,  a  lively,  brilliant,  and  yet  subtle 
creature,  who  reigned  over  the  hearts  of  her  Paris 

123 


124  DOROTEA  ET  CIE 

public  from  the  boards  of  their  favourite  Comedy 
Theatre. 

It  was  Jenny  Trudaine,  who  said  with  a  shrug, 
sipping  the  orange-flavoured  caravan-tea  from  a 
cup  that  was  a  mere  bubble  of  coloured  porcelain  : 
"Ah,  bah!  everybody  wants  money!  And  up 
to  now  we  women  have  got  it  in  every  imaginable 
way  except  by  mining  for  it.  Let  us  three  unite  to 
be  the  exception  that  makes  the  rule!" 

She  gaily  tossed  a  bonbon  to  a  magnificent 
tawny  Persian  cat,  who  sniffed  at  the,  to  him,  un- 
eatable delicacy  with  disgust,  and  proudly  stalked 
away  to  lap  at  the  saucer  of  cream  his  mistress  set 
for  him  upon  the  rose- velvet  carpet.  The  great 
actress's  peal  of  silver  laughter  followed  him. 

"  Altair  represents  the  public!"  cried  she. 
"The  stupid  public,  that  will  put  its  money  in 
gold  mines,  or  in  silver  mines,  in  ruby  mines,  or 
in  diamond  mines  that  have  no  existence  except 
on  stamped  paper,  because  it  knows  gold  and 
silver  by  the  touch  and  feel,  and  buys  the  precious 
stones  to  hang  on  its  wives — and  the  wives  of  its 
dearest  friends  ! — yet  sniffs  suspiciously  at  a  mine 
of  radium,  because,  though  radium  is  in  every- 
body's mouth,  hardly  anybody  has  ever  seen  any. 
Me,  I  call  that  idiotic  !  Am  I  not  one  of  the  prin- 
cipal shareholders  in  this  venture  of  ours,  and  have 
I  ever  seen  any?  Not  so  much  !"  She  measured 
off  an  infinitesimal  space  upon  her  little  pink  and 
polished  thumb-nail,  and  stopped  for  breath. 


DOROTEA  ET  CIE  125 

"I  have  seen  some  once,"  said  the  Princess 
Delidoff,  who  was  a  slender,  delicately  fair  woman, 
with  onyx-black  eyes  and  ropes  of  pale  golden 
hair,  and  a  physique  of  tempered  steel  under  her 
fine  lady's  indolence  and  lassitude.  "It  was  a 
speck  of  a  few  milligrammes  of  dirty,  greyish- 
looking  salt  (a  speck  about  as  large  as  the  head  of 
a  glass-topped  toilet-pin)  at  the  bottom  of  a  tiny 
glass  tube,  hermetically  sealed.  The  savant  who 
lectured  upon  its  properties  caused  the  lights  in  the 
hall  to  be  extinguished,  and  then  the  stuff  glimmered 
like  moonlight  made  solid.  It  was  'eerie,'  as  your 
old  Scotch  nurse  used  to  say,  my  Dorot6a,"  she 
ended,  turning  to  the  Duchess,  with  whom  she 
maintained  a  close  friendship  that  had  begun  in 
early  childhood,  and  had  never  been  marred  as 
yet  by  jealousy,  or  lack  of  sympathy,  or  any  of 
the  other  causes  that  separate  friends. 

"It  is  more  than  eerie,"  said  the  Duchess 
Dorot^a,  looking  up  from  a  mass  of  papers  heaped 
upon  an  embossed  gold  tray.  "It  is  divine,  or 
diabolical,  I  am  not  sure  which.  ...  As  said 
that  great  chemist — I  am  ungrateful  enough  to 
forget  his  name — who  lost  the  sight  of  one  eye  as 
the  result  of  an  experiment  that  determined  the 
healing  virtues  of  this  marvellous  product,  as 
applied  in  diseases  of  the  visual  organ,  '  It  is  either 
the  greatest  gift,  or  the  most  frightful  curse  that 
science  has  ever  bestowed  upon  the  world.' 
Perhaps  that  is  why  it  interests  one  so  profoundly  !" 


126  DOROTEA  ET  CIE 

She  bathed  her  lovely  white  hands  in  the  piles 
of  greenish-hued  papers  before  her,  which  were,  in 
fact,  depreciated  scrip  representing  in  English 
money  ,£150,000.  The  Princess  spoke: 

"Three  years  ago,  when  Gregorof,  my  husband, 
who  then  was  Governor-General  of  Eastern  Siberia, 
told  me  that  in  the  deserted  silver  workings  in  the 
district  of  Ortai  and  Litchinsk,  quantities  of 
uranium  pitchblende — the  tarry-coloured  alkaline 
ore  from  which  radium  chloride  is  extracted — were 
to  be  found,  I  began  by  telling  Dorotea — I  always 
begin  by  telling  Dorotea — and  getting  her  to 
suggest  what  I  have  in  my  mind!"  She  smiled 
at  Dorotea,  and  pulled  the  ears  of  a  great  white 
Borzoi  that  came  up  and  laid  a  friendly  paw  on  her 
velvet  gown. 

"Down,  Aldebaran!"  said  Duchess  Dorotea, 
and  Aldebaran  obeyed  with  a  sigh  and  a  wistful 
look  out  of  his  great  pale  yellow  eyes. 

"Dorotea  thought,"  continued  the  Princess, 
"that  it  would  be  fun  to  get  a  mining-concession 
from  our  Russian  Government,  float  a  Company, 
work  the  mines  for  uranium  pitchblende,  extract 
this  priceless  salt  from  it,  sell  it  for  millions  upon 
millions,  and  become  the  two  richest  women  in  the 
world!" 

"That  was  before  I  came  in,"  murmured  Jenny 
Trudaine,  nestling  in  among  her  cushions  with  a 
little  yawn.  "  After,  we  were  to  be  the  three  richest, 
and  it  did  not  come  off.  Provoking  !" 


DOROTEA  ET  CIE  127 

"We  formed  ourselves  into  a  Syndicate,"  said 
the  Princess,  "and  because  we  were  idiots,  or 
because  we  were  women " 

"  Gregorof  would  tell  us  it  means  the  same 
thing,"  said  the  Duchess  of  Bellaselva. 

"  Because  we  were  idiots  of  women,  we  took 
Prince  Oscar  of  Sidonia  into  the  scheme  and 
made  him  Grand  Perpetual  Chairman  of  the 
Syndicate,  and  his  lawyer,  Dr.  Alexis  Jurnetti, 
esteemed  in  his  native  capital  of  Vienna  as  quite 
a  clever  person " 

"A  dangerously  clever  person!"  put  in  the 
Duchess. 

"A  Life  Director.  Then  they  set  things  going, 
and  heaps  of  prospectuses  are  printed,  and  sheets 
upon  sheets  of  crackling  green  share-coupons, 
officially  stamped,  and  called  by  all  sorts  of 
different  names,  are  turned  out,  and  heaps  of  our 
dearest  friends  buy  them ;  and  the  Syndicate 
accumulate  working  capital  to  the  extent  of  more 
than  a  million  and  a  half  of  roubles — and  then — and 
then " 

"Then,  M.  de  Sidonia  makes  the  extraordinary 
discovery,  through  his  Russian  agents,"  said 
Mademoiselle  Jenny,  "that  M.  le  Prince  Gregorof 
Delidoff  was  mistaken,  and  that  there  is  no  uranium 
pitchblende  in  the  abandoned  silver-workings,  or 
in  East  Siberia  at  all,  for  that  matter !  But  why 
should  the  stupid  public  shriek  at  that,  when  it 
invests  its  money  in  other  things  that  have  no 


128  DOROTEA  ET  CIE 

existence,  every  hour  of  every  day  ?  In  my  opinion, 
you  ought  never  to  have  acquainted  them  with  the 
discovery  of  M.  de  Sidonia." 

*'  How  was  it  possible  that,  having  induced  our 
friends  to  speculate  in  what  the  Americans  would 
doubtless  term  a  'wild  cat'  investment,"  said  the 
Duchess  Dorotea,  with  a  sigh,  "  Nadine  and  I 
should  not  buy  back  all  their  shares " 

"With  the  exception  of  my  little  lot,"  said 
Mademoiselle  Jenny,  "to  which  I  cling  in  spite  of 
your  entreaties " 

"And  as  a  result,  dearest  Nadine,"  said  the 
Duchess  Dorotea,  "behold  yourself  and  me  in- 
finitely poorer  and  infinitely  wiser  than  when  we 
first  took  it  into  our  two  heads  to  faire  la 
planche  to  other  people  in  the  money-making 
line." 

"What  I  cannot  make  out,"  pouted  Jenny  Tru- 
daine,  nibbling  with  her  pretty  little  white  teeth  at 
a  marron  glac&,  "  is,  why  you  should  have  paid  all 
that  money  out  of  your  own  pockets.  Where  are 
the  million  and  a  half  of  roubles  that  all  this  crack- 
ling stuff  represents?"  She  pointed  scornfully  to 
the  gold  tray. 

"M.  de  Sidonia "  hesitated  the  Princess. 

"M.  de  Sidonia  should  know,  certainly,"  added 
Duchess  Dorotea.  "  But  he  has  never  explained, 
and  nothing  has  been  heard  of  or  from  him  for  two 
years  at  least." 

"  And  to  put  the  definite  question,  as  to  what  has 


DOROTEA  ET  CIE  129 

become  of  all  the  money,"  intimated  the  Princess 
gently,  "would  be  to  cast  an  aspersion  upon  the 
Prince's  honour." 

"Jenny!"  cried  the  Duchess  Dorote"a,  indig- 
nantly, as  the  fair  comedienne  threw  herself  back 
among  her  cushions,  emitting  peal  upon  peal  of 
tinkling  laughter. 

"Ah!  ha,  ha,  ha!"  screamed  Jenny  Trudaine. 
"  The  Prince's  honour  1  Excuse  me,  Mesdames, 
I  am  a  little  hysterical!"  She  dried  her  tearful 
blue  eyes  with  a  minute  cobweb  of  cambric.  "  Also, 
it  has  just  dawned  upon  me  that  I  have  lost  a 
great  deal  of  cash." 

"You  would  not  consent  to  sell  us  back  your 
shares,  Mademoiselle,"  reminded  the  Duchess 
rather  stiffly. 

"Let  me  admit  it.  I  was  too  clever!"  sighed 
the  comedienne.  "  Frankly,  it  occurred  to  me  that 
you,  Madame,  and  the  Duchesse  were  what  the 
horrid  English,  who  adore  me,  call  '  on  the  job.'  ' 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  the  Princess,  in  a  shocked 
tone.  She  looked  aghast  at  Duchess  Dorote"a. 

"You  dared "  cried  Dorot^a,  rising  to  her 

splendid  height. 

"To  think  that  you  and  Madame  were  simply 
4  bearing  the  market ' — I  think  is  the  term — to  pro- 
duce a  discouragement  among  those  who  had 
speculated  in  Siberian  Radiums — and  purchase 
back  the  entire  issue  of  stock  at  a  price  below  par. 
What  can  you  expect?  Remember,  Mesdames,  I 

9 


i3o  DOROTEA  ET  CIE 

have  never  concealed  from  you  that  my  mother 
was  a  femme  de  chambre!"  Jenny  made  her  famous 
gesture  of  depreciation,  a  little  moue  and  shrug 
combined. 

"Even  though  you  cannot  comprehend  what  is 
meant  by  noblesse  oblige,"  said  Dorot£a,  whose 
fiery  rage  had  quivered  down  to  disdain,  "you 
should  at  least  give  credit  to  those  who  have  proved 
themselves  your  friends,  for  common  honesty." 

"Alas,  Mesdames  !"  pleaded  Jenny,  and  no  one 
could  tell  whether  a  tear  or  a  twinkle  glittered  in 
the  bright  eye  that  was  not  hidden  by  the  cambric 
cobweb;  "common  honesty  is  a  vulgar  virtue  for 
which  M.  le  Prince  de  Sidonia  is  known  to  cultivate 
but  little  sympathy,  and,  knowing  you  to  entertain  a 
marked  regard  for  the  Prince — even  to  have  allied 
yourselves  with  him  in  business — how  was  it 
possible  to  me  not  to  suppose  you  were — excuse 
another  English  proverb,  so  chic  is  their  very 
vulgarity! — 'tarred  with  the  same  brush.'"  She 
began  to  laugh  again.  "  And  if  I  erred,  Mesdames, 
am  I  not  richly  punished,  in  losing  all  my  money  ? 
Oh,  and  do  not  think  I  regret  it !"  the  comedienne 
cried,  with  a  flash  of  fierceness.  "Never,  never! 
since  the  loss  of  it  has  brought  me  to  the  know- 
ledge of  such  noble  hearts  as  yours  !" 

The  ladies  looked  at  Jenny  and  their  indignant 
regard  softened.  One  after  another  they  rose, 
went  to  her  and  kissed  her.  And  then  a  superb 
groom  of  the  chambers  entered  apologetically 


DOROTEA  ET  CIE  131 

with  a  message.  Quite  a  common  person,  who 
announced  himself  as  a  delegate  from  the  united 
peasants  of  the  villages  of  Ortai  and  Litchinsk,  in 
a  remote  province  of  Eastern  Siberia,  entreated  an 
audience  of  the  Duchess  of  Bellaselva. 

The  ladies  exchanged  glances. 

"We  will  see  him  !"  said  the  Duchess  Dorot^a. 
"Together,"  she  added  to  the  Princess  and  the 
comedienne,  "for  this  is  your  affair  as  well  as 
mine !" 

"  Markoff  Platon,"  announced  the  groom  of  the 
chambers. 

Markoff  Platon,  a  gigantic  young  man,  with  a 
shaggy  head  of  pale  yellow  hair  and  great  hollow 
blue  eyes,  stood  upon  the  threshold,  dressed  in 
peasant  garb,  and  made  three  bows,  peasant 
fashion,  holding  his  old  fur  cap  before  him.  Up- 
right, his  blond  head  very  nearly  reached  the  lintel 
of  the  doorway,  and  his  great  shoulders,  in  their 
sheepskin  pelisse,  filled  up  the  space. 

"That  a  peasant !"  whispered  the  actress  to  her- 
self, as  she  scanned  the  magnificent  figure.  "Pas 
possible!" 

"I  understand  you  wish  to  see  me,"  said  the 
Duchess  of  Bellaselva.  "Certainly  you  arrive  at 
a  fortunate  moment.  For  if,  as  I  cannot  but 
suppose  is  the  case,  you  come  upon  business  con- 
nected with  the  affairs  of  the  two  villages  com- 
prised within  the  bounds  of  the  district  conceded 
by  the  Russian  Imperial  Government  for  mining 


i32  DOROTEA  ET  CIE 

purposes  to  the  Profitable  Pitchblende  Syndicate, 
three  of  the  four  persons  who  constitute  the 
Syndicate,  and  indeed  represent  the  entire  company 
of  shareholders,  happen  to  be  present." 

"  Approach,  pray,  and  begin  1"  said  the  Princess 
Delidoff  impatiently. 

"Yes,  yes;  what  have  you  to  tell  us  from  our 
peasants?"  cried  Jenny  Trudaine. 

"This!"  The  man  stretched  out  his  hands. 
"But  this,  that  for  three  years  past  they  have 
suffered  cruelly — that  when  I  left  them  they  were 
starving,  dying  like  flies.  The  united  Mirs  of  the 
villages  of  Ortai  and  Litchinsk  send  me  to  repre- 
sent them,  to  plead  for  them  in  these  words  :  '  The 
Emperor  has  placed  us  in  your  hands,'  they  say  to 
you,  '  to  dig  your  mineral  pitchblende  from  the 
bowels  of  the  earth.  But  you  give  us  but  one  day 
in  the  week  to  labour  for  ourselves,  and  what  is 
that  ?  Be  merciful !  Three  days  we  will  dig  for 
you,  as  the  Little  Father  says  we  must;  the  other 
three  we  will  till  the  land,  and  tend  our  beasts  and 
cut  our  wood.  Concede  us  these,  and  we  will  live. 
Deny  us,  and  we  will  bow  our  heads  and  die  I  We 
have  spoken,  by  the  lips  of  one  of  us  P  " 

"Ah,  bah,  you  are  not  a  peasant !"  thought  the 
actress.  The  Princess  and  the  Duchess  Dorote"a 
were  lost  in  blank  amazement.  The  Duchess  was 
the  first  to  recover  herself. 

"Monsieur,"  she  began,  "can  this  indeed  be 
possible?" 


DOROTEA  ET  CIE  133 

"  I  am  no  Monsieur,"  said  Markoff  Platon,  "  but 
a  tiller  of  the  soil,  and  a  digger  of  your  pitch- 
blende, like  all  the  other  peasants." 

"Dame!"  burst  out  Jenny  Trudaine,  "peasant 
or  gentleman,  how  can  you  dig  pitchblende  when 
there  is  not  to  be  had  in  those  abandoned  silver- 
mines  of  Ortai  and  Litchinsk  enough  to  cover  my 
finger-nail  ?" 

"No  pitchblende  in  Ortai  and  Litchinsk  I"  ex- 
claimed Markoff  Platon,  roughly.  "Madame,  you 
are  deceived.  There  are  thousands  of  tons  beyond 
those  already  dug  and  sent  away  in  arbas  to  the 
crushing-mills  of  the  refining  works  your  overseers 
have  set  up  at  Karbav." 

"A  peasant  would  have  called  me  Baruina,  and 
not  Madame,"  thought  observant  Jenny.  Aloud 
she  added  :  "What  works  do  you  speak  of?"  and 
Markoff  Platon  replied : 

"Those  that  have  been  erected  by  the  two  over- 
seer-agents of  the  Company,  who  say  we  are  to  call 
them  Herr  Oscar  and  Herr  Alexis." 

The  Princess  and  Duchess  Dorote"a  looked  at 
each  other  in  wonder.  But  Jenny  Trudaine  had 
not  failed  to  remark  the  peculiar  tone  in  which  the 
peasant  envoy  pronounced  the  names.  She  said  : 

"  Describe  these  gentlemen,  if  you  will  have  the 
kindness!" 

Markoff  Platon  said,  after  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion : 

"The  Herr  Alexis  is  little,  and  lean,  and  dark, 


134  DOROTEA  ET  CIE 

with  a  pointed  thin  beard  and  a  high  peaked  fore- 
head. He  wears  gold  eye-glasses  when  he  is  not 
twirling  them  between  his  fingers — sol" 

"Jurnetti!"  telegraphed  the  Princess  to  the 
Duchess  Dorote*a. 

Markoff  Platon  went  on  : 

"TheHerr  Oscar " 

"Let  me  describe  him,"  said  Mademoiselle 
Jenny,  and  rose.  "  He  is  tall  and  slender  and 
white-haired,  with  chiselled  aquiline  features,  and 
the  rosy  complexion  of  a  Convent  schoolgirl.  He 
has  a  perfumed  white  moustache,  which  he  con- 
stantly caresses  with  fingers  that  are  delicate  as — 
say,  as  mine."  She  gave  a  slight  but  inimitable 
caricature  of  M.  le  Prince  de  Sidonia.  "His  eye- 
lids droop  over  large  grey  eyes,  not  too  saintly  in 
their  expression  when  the  Herr  looks  at  a  pretty 
woman,  for  instance." 

Markoff  Platon,  from  haggard-pale,  grew  scarlet. 
He  stretched  out  his  clasped  hands  to  the  Duchess 
Dorote"a,  and  fell  upon  his  knees. 

"It  is  all  true — all  !  Save  Ivana  Vassily  from 
the  loathsome  man,  Madame !  It  is  for  her  sake, 
more  than  for  the  others,  that  I  have  journeyed 
here,  almost  penniless,  nearly  starving.  Have  pity, 
gracious  and  noble  lady,  for  I  cannot  believe  you 
wicked,  although  you  be  in  league  with  fiends!" 

"  Merci  du  compliment!"  muttered  Jenny 
Trudaine.  But  the  man  had  fallen  upon  his  face 
and  lay  motionless,  and  the  Duchess  Dorot^a,  with 


DOROTEA  ET  CIE  135 

strong,  beautiful  hands,  was  lifting  the  great,  help- 
less blond  head,  laying  it  on  her  knee  and  telling 
the  Princess  to  ring  for  cognac  and  iced  water. 

"And  some  bouillon,"  put  in  Mademoiselle 
Trudaine,  "for  the  Siberian  ambassador  is  almost 
starved.  I  nearly  died  of  hunger  myself,  in  my 
student  days,  and  it  hurt  abominably ;  and  I  had 
only  the  ladder  of  Fame  to  climb,  not  Eastern 
Siberia  to  cross.  Pouf !  that  was  no  joke.  And 
all  over  a  woman,  too  !" 

"That  reminds  me,"  said  Duchess  Dorote"a, 
"M.  le  Prince  is  without  doubt  masquerading  as 
this  German  Herr  Oscar?" 

"  With  his  Viennese  friend  Jurnetti,  the  clever 
lawyer,"  added  Jenny,  "in  the  character  of  the 
Herr  Alexis?" 

"Can  it  be?"  cried  the  Princess. 

"Of  course!"  said  Mademoiselle  Jenny,  un- 
fastening the  ambassador's  coarse  peasant  shirt  at 
the  neck.  An  enamelled  and  diamond-studded 
reliquary,  hanging  by  a  thin  gold  chain  about  the 
massive  white  throat  of  the  fainting  man,  caught 
her  quick  eye.  "A  peasant!  la,  la!"  she  said  to 
herself,  and  fastened  the  shirt  again  as  the  eyelids 
quivered,  and  the  great  blue  eyes  unclosed. 

"  Listen  1"  said  Duchess  Dorot£a  to  the  Princess, 
when  her  servants  had  carried  Markoff  to  one  of 
her  guest-chambers.  "  It  is  hideously  plain  that 
there  is  plenty  of  pitchblende  at  the  mines,  and 
that  M.  le  Prince  de  Sidonia  has  strangely  for- 


J36  DOROTEA  ET  CIE 

gotten  the  precepts  of  noblesse  oblige,  as  well  as 
those  of  Christian  humanity.  Also,  there  is  the 
affair  of  this  peasant  girls  Ivana  Vassily,  to  be 
accounted  for " 

"As  well,"  said  the  Princess,  meditatively,  "as 
one  million  and  a  half  of  roubles." 

"Therefore,"  went  on  the  Duchess  Dorote"a, 
"when  this  man  is  sufficiently  revived  to  travel,  I 
go  with  him  to  Eastern  Siberia." 

"That  will  be  quite  rigolo!"  declared  the  Prin- 
cess. "It  is  mid-winter,  and  if  you  don't  mind 
jolting,  kibitka  travelling  is  really  amusing.  I 
quite  envy  you  the  journey;  my  husband  is  so 
terrible  a  bore  just  now  with  his  craze  of  aviation. 
He  has  bought  the  latest  aeroplane  from  a  man  who 
invented  it,  and  if  I  am  to  be  made  a  widow  I 
should  prefer  not  to  see  it  done  !"  She  added,  as  an 
afterthought,  "  besides,  I  love  you,  my  Dorote"a,  and 
I  will  not  have  you  venture  alone  among  wolves 
and  Cossacks  and  Revolutionaries.  So  when  you 
start  I  accompany  you  !" 

"  And  I  am  to  be  left  behind  to  coiffer  Saint 
Catherine  I  .  .  .  Not  for  a  moment,"  cried  Jenny 
Trudaine,  "do  I  intend  to  be  left  behind  !  I  have 
never  yet  been  bumped  in  a  kibitka  over  frozen 
plains.  Besides,  I  have  a  quarrel  with  the  manage- 
ment at  the  theatre,  or  I  intend  to  have,  which  is 
the  same  thing;  and  a  trip  to  Siberia  will  bring 
Messieurs  to  their  senses.  And  if  you  refuse  me  as 
a  companion  of  your  journey,  possibly  I  may  blab 


DOROTEA  ET  CIE  137 

the  secret  all  over  Paris  !"  She  looked  very  wilful 
and  wicked  and  provoking,  and  her  blue  eyes 
twinkled  like  stars  in  frost.  "What  else  could 
you  expect  of  the  daughter  of  a  femme  de 
chambre?" 

The  Princess  argued,  Duchess  Dorot^a  ex- 
plained. All  to  no  good.  Jenny  insisted  on 
going,  and  she  went.  The  little  party  started  for 
St.  Petersburg  in  twenty-four  hours. 


II. 

The  railway  portion  of  the  journey  calls  for  little 
remark.  The  Princess  had  with  her  two  gigantic 
Cossacks  of  His  Highness's  guard  as  body- 
servants  and,  if  necessary,  defenders;  the  Duchess 
of  Bellaselva  brought  an  Italian  of  her  household, 
a  hardy  Northerner  from  her  own  old  home,  by  name 
'Tonio  Gazzi,  the  elder  son  of  the  peasant  woman 
who  had  been  her  Grace's  foster-mother,  and  who 
had  charged  'Tonio  upon  her  death-bed  to  be  a 
true  and  devoted  guardian  to  his  young  mistress. 
Markoff  Platon,  now  recovered  from  his  weakness 
and  exhaustion,  and  showing  a  feverish  anxiety  to 
push  on,  served  as  guide  for  the  expedition.  To 
which  Mademoiselle  Jenny  contributed  her  spark- 
ling little  personality,  a  tiny  Chinese  sleeve-dog 
that  never  left  her,  and  an  equally  tiny  revolver, 
charmingly  inlaid  with  platinum  and  gold. 

"You    think    it    too    pretty    to    kill    with,    eh, 


i38  DOROTEA  ET  CIE 

Monsieur?"  she  asked  of  Markoff  Platon  when  she 
showed  it  him.  It  was  in  the  single  room  of  a 
miserable  one-roomed  log-hut  posting-house,  where 
the  party  had  halted  to  change  their  wretched 
horses,  and  snatch  an  interval  of  refreshment  and 
warmth,  grouped  about  the  battered  and  smoking 
samovar. 

"Far  from  it,  Madame,"  answered  the  blond 
giant.  "  Is  not  a  lovely  woman  the  most  death- 
dealing  weapon  that  ever  was  wielded  by  the  hand 
of  Fate?" 

"  That  a  peasant !"  grinned  Jenny  to  herself,  as 
she  fed  her  sleeve-dog  with  biscuits  she  carried. 
She  glanced  at  the  Duchess  Dorot^a,  and  noted 
that  the  great  grey-hazel  eyes  of  the  beautiful 
woman  followed  Platon  as  he  rejoined  the  Cossacks 
and  the  Italian  servant  at  their  end  of  the  hut. 

They  had  long  left  Siberian  railways  and  even 
the  humble,  flea-haunted  Siberian  inns  behind?  them  ; 
the  cold  was  Arctic,  and  the  feathery  snowflakes 
froze  as  they  fell,  for  the  temperature  was  forty-eight 
degrees  below  zero.  Jenny  Trudaine  had  learned 
what  the  bumping  of  the  kibitka  was  like,  as  the 
clumsy  machine  hurtled  at  the  tails  of  the  galloping 
troika  over  the  icy  furrows  of  stone-hard  snow. 

"It  is  a  nightmare!"  the  Duchess  murmured 
sometimes,  as  the  deadly  stinging  cold  gripped  at 
her  heart.  Once  or  twice  upon  alighting  she 
swooned,  and  then,  thrusting  aside  those  who 
crowded  about  her,  Markoff  Platon  seized  her  in 


DOROTEA  ET  CIE  139 

his  powerful  arms,  shook  her,  shouted  in  her 
delicate  ears,  rubbed  the  lax  hands  and  the  sweet 
olive-skinned,  blue-veined  temples  with  coarse 
vodka  and  snow,  and  recalled  her  to  consciousness. 
"  It  was  madness — she  ought  never  to  have 
come!"  he  muttered,  when  at  length  the  lovely 
languid  eyes  unclosed. 

"  You  are  not  anxious  about  the  Princess  or  my- 
self, it  appears?"  hinted  Jenny  Trudaine. 

"  Her  Highness  is  a  Russian  woman,  and  you, 
Madame,  are  hardy  as  a  gamin  of  the  Paris 
streets,"  said  Markoff  Platon,  "while  she  is  an 
Italian,  who  has  breathed  the  balmy  air  of  the 
South,  and  drunk  of  its  sunshine  all  her  beautiful 
life,  and  this  icy  wind  is  death  to  her.  I  shall 
never  pardon  myself  for  having  let  her  come !" 

"Ah,  bah!  One  can  live  but  once!"  said 
Mademoiselle  Jenny,  with  a  shrug.  The  shrug 
said:  "Truly  a  fine  peasant,  this — with  grand 
seigneur  in  every  line  of  his  body  and  every  note 
of  his  voice  !"  Aloud  she  spoke  again  :  "  We  are 
not  far  from  our  journey's  end  now,  you  tell  us. 
After  all  these  dreary,  desolate  months,  that  is 
something  to  know.  Tell  me,  these  peasants  of 
Ortai  and  Litchinsk — they  do  not  labour  in  the 
mines  in  winter?  That  must  be  impossible, 
surely?" 

"They  are  down  in  the  workings  five  days  out  of 
the  six.  They  live  underground  like  moles.  A 
Cossack  guard  has  been  set  over  them  to  see  that 


140  DOROTEA  ET  CIE 

they  do  not  escape  before  the  hour  when  they  have 
permission  to  rise  to  daylight,  and  the  food  their 
wives  and  children  bring  is  lowered  in  the  baskets 
in  which  they  draw  the  pitchblende  up,"  said 
Platon,  with  a  heavy  frown.  "So  it  was  when, 
eighteen  months  ago,  I  left  them  to  bring  help.  So 
it  is  now,  unless  they  are  dead?"  He  made  the 
sign  of  the  Cross. 

"  And  Ivana  Vassily  ?"  asked  Jenny.  The  fierce 
blue  eyes  flamed  out  at  her  in  angry  misery.  His 
stern,  white  face  grew  dark  with  a  rush  of 
blood. 

"  Hers  is  a  worse  servitude  even  than  that  to 
which  her  father  and  her  brothers  are  condemned  1" 
he  said  briefly.  "The  two  Germans  at  Karbav 
hold  her  prisoner.  They  are  great  chemists,  you 
understand,  and  the  girl  is  the  victim  of  their 
physiological  experiments.  To  gain  some  accursed 
knowledge  that  they  seek,  I  suspect  them  of 
drugging  her,  poisoning  her,  body  and  soul,  with 
the  radio-active  chloride  they  extract  from  the 
crushed  mineral  the  wretched  peasants  dig  for 
them.  And  Ivana  Vassily  was  an  angel  to  me 
when  I  lay  sick  and  helpless  under  her  father's 
poor  roof.  She  was  my  nurse  and  my  doctor,  my 
sister,  and " 

"And  lover,  perhaps?"  thought  Jenny.  But 
she  looked  profoundly  innocent  as  she  asked  this 
very  uncommon  peasant : 

'  What  is  the  ultimate  purpose,  do  you  suppose, 


DOROTEA  ET  CIE  141 

of  the  physiological  experiments  of  M.  Oscar  and 
M.Alexis?" 

The  blue  eyes  flashed. 

"  Oscar  is  an  old  viveur  and  rou6,  who  denies  the 
existence  of  God,  but  would  prolong  the  life  He 
gave  for  ever,  if  it  could  be.  Alexis  is  a  man  who 
has  reached  middle-age  without  ever  having  lived, 
and  desires  to  put  back  Time,  and  taste  the  pleasures 
he  has  denied  himself  hitherto.  They  needed  a 
human  subject  to  experiment  upon.  Therefore 
they  kidnapped  Ivana,  and  imprisoned  her  in  their 
stone  fortress  at  Karbav." 

"And  you,  who  love  her,"  cried  Jenny,  "let 
them  take  her?" 

"  And  I,  who  hold  her  dear  as  my  own  sister, 
Madame,  I  fought  for  her  until  I  was  overpowered 
by  numbers.  All  the  men  of  the  village  were  at 
the  mines  when  they  seized  her ;  only  the  women 
and  myself — scarce  risen  from  a  bed  of  sickness — 
were  left."  His  lips  were  deathly  white  under  the 
pale  golden  moustache.  "I  followed  her  to  the 
stronghold  of  her  captors.  I  tried  to  tear  the 
granite  walls  down  with  my  bare  bleeding  hands. 
In  vain  I  begged  those  men  to  have  pity  and  restore 
Ivana  to  her  mother.  Then,  finding  myself  help- 
less, I  said,  '  I  will  journey  to  Paris  and  appeal  to 
the  company.  If  they  knew  what  wickedness  their 
agents  are  guilty  of  they  surely  would  come  to 
their  aid.'  And " 

"Why  not  have  gone  to  Petersburg?"   asked 


I42  DOROTEA  ET  CIE 

Jenny.  "The  Emperor  is  more  accessible  to  peti- 
tions than  of  old,  since  there  is  a  Duma — or  a 
pretence  of  one !" 

Markoff  Platon  seemed  not  to  have  heard. 

"He  is  a  noble  who  has  been  exiled  for  joining 
the  Revolutionary  party,"  said  Jenny  Trudaine  to 
herself.  And  she  smiled  very  sagely  as  she  rolled 
her  dainty  person  in  her  furs  for  the  night's  sleep 
upon  a  leather-covered  air-mattress  in  a  corner  of 
the  noisy  crowded  posting-house. 

The  end  of  the  next  day's  journey  brought  them 
to  a  miserable  village,  consisting  of  a  double  line 
of  snow-covered  wooden  huts.  A  few  half-starved 
women  and  children  were  creeping  about.  It  was 
Ortai,  and  some  thin  spirals  of  smoke  that  rose  in 
the  distance  beyond  a  stretch  of  pine-forest  indi- 
cated Litchinsk.  And  a  gaunt  bare  range  of  hills 
to  the  east,  snowy  and  bleak  and  desolate  under  the 
young  March  moon,  contained  the  ancient  silver- 
workings  in  whose  shafts  and  tunnels  the  men  of 
two  villages  laboured,  in  cold  .and  darkness  and 
hunger,  under  the  knout  wielded  by  Imperial 
authority,  vested  in  the  rascally  persons  of  H.H. 
the  Prince  of  Sidonia  and  Herr  Alexis  Jurnetti, 
advocate,  of  Vienna. 

"I  have  an  idea,  cherie,"  said  the  Princess 
Delidoff  to  the  Duchess  Dorote"a,  as  the  three 
kibitkas  containing  the  travellers  and  their  attend- 
ants stopped  before  the  largest  cabin  in  the  village, 
and  a  middle-aged,  cleanly  peasant  woman  and  a 


DOROTEA  ET  CIE  143 

young  girl  rushed  out  and  fell  upon  their  knees 
on  the  snow  at  the  feet  of  Markoff  Platon,  sobbing 
and  blessing  him  as  their  deliverer.  "It  is  that 
we  ought,  instead  of  two  Cossacks,  to  have  brought 
a  hundred.  Three  women  and  four  men  hardly 
count  against  the  force  M.  le  Prince  and  his 
partner  can  marshal  against  us  if  they  choose.  For 
they  apparently  have  quite  an  army  of  Cossack 
mercenaries  at  their  disposal,  granted  by  the 
Governor-General  of  the  Province,  and " 

"And  paid  out  of  the  million  and  a  half  of 
roubles  about  which  we  were  so  shy  of  reminding 
His  Highness,"  said  the  Duchess  Dorote"a,  drily, 
as  some  carts,  laden  with  loaves  of  stone-hard, 
coarse  black  bread  and  little  yellow  cheeses,  drawn 
by  shaggy  ponies,  and  guarded  by  fierce-look- 
ing mounted  Cossacks,  rolled  by.  The  men 
turned  in  their  saddles  and  stared  at  the  strangers 
who  had  alighted  at  Ivan  Vassily's  wooden 
cabin. 

"The  news  will  be  at  Karbav  Works  before 
nightfall,"  said  the  wife  of  Vassily  in  Markoff 
Platen's  ear.  They  stood  together  in  the  outer 
room  where  the  agricultural  implements  were  kept, 
and  where  the  sheepskin  shubas  hung  against  the 
wall.  The  ladies  were  in  the  inner  chamber  drink- 
ing tea.  The  girl  Tatiana  (sister  of  the  lost  Ivana) 
was  with  them,  spreading  their  mattresses  and  furs 
about  the  stove,  for  the  cabin  was  to  be  given  up 
for  their  occupation. 


144  DOROTEA  ET  CIE 

"  Have  you  any  news  of  Ivana?"  Markoff  asked 
the  peasant  woman. 

"She  is  living.  Tatiana  has  seen  her  face  four 
times  since  you  went  away  at  a  barred  window, 
high  up  in  the  wall.  The  last  time  was  the  day 
before  yesterday .  She  is  terribly  changed .  Tatiana 
fell  down  in  the  snow  at  the  sight  of  her.  May 
God  be  her  help,  unhappy  child  1  Tell  me, 
dyedushka,  friend  of  my  soul,  what  you  have 
planned  to  do?" 

"We  drive  over  there  to-morrow,  and  take  the 
two  men  by  surprise  1"  said  Platon. 

"You,  with  these  ladies?" 

"And  the  Cossacks,  and  the  other  man.  The 
ladies  are  the  real  owners  of  the  Ortai  and  Litchinsk 
mines;  they  represent  the  whole  Company.  These 
two  Germans  are  their  paid  servants,  rascals  and 
thieves,  and  worse.  .  .  .  Well,  the  rascals  will  be 
detected  in  their  cheat  and  dismissed  !  We  shall 
turn  them  out  of  their  stronghold,  and  recover 
Ivana!" 

"But  have  you  thought?"  The  simple  peasant 
went  straight  to  the  point.  "There  is  a  proverb  : 
'  When  the  slave  is  the  strongest,  the  master  is  the 
slave ! '  What  are  four  men  and  three  women 
against  all  those  armed  Cossacks  that  the  Germans 
have  got  from  His  Highness  to  guard  them  and  do 
their  will?  Suppose  they  shoot  you  down  like 
wolves,  then  these  delicate  baruinas,  with  their 
furs  and  jewels,  and  their  fair  faces  like  the  saints 


DOROTEA  ET  CIE  145 

in  the  holy  ikons — they  can  do  with  them  what  they 
will!" 

A  tremor  passed  over  Markoff  Platon.  His  face 
grew  haggard,  and  his  blue  eyes  darkened  with 
sudden  fear.  He  raised  his  head,  and  looked  over 
the  shoulder  of  Vassily's  wife  into  the  great  hazel 
eyes  of  the  Duchess  Dorotea,  radiant  and  calm 
under  their  arching  black  brows. 

"Not  while  we  have  our  revolvers  and  can  use 
them,"  she  said,  with  her  sweet  smile.  "Made- 
moiselle Trudaine  is  not  the  only  lady  who  carries 
arms." 

Markoff  took  a  long  step  towards  the  Duchess 
and  dropped  upon  one  knee  at  her  feet. 

"  Forgive  me,  ah  !  Madame,  forgive  me  for  com- 
ing with  my  prayer  for  help  to  your  house  in 
Paris  !"  he  said,  hoarsely.  "  Better  that  I  had  gone 
to  Petersburg,  though  it  meant  another  prison,  a 
fresh  exile,  even  death.  For  I  have  dragged  you 
and  your  companions  into  danger  in  the  strength 
of  my  desire  to  rescue  Ivana  Vassily." 

"You  love  her  so  devotedly?"  the  Duchess 
Dorotea  said,  as  Jenny  Trudaine  had  done.  And 
Markoff  faltered  : 

"  Madame — she — she  saved  my  life  !  She  found 
me  starving,  dying  on  the  tundra.  She  placed  me 
on  a  hand-sledge  and  dragged  me  all  the  way  here. 
I  was  ill,  almost  dying,  and  she  nursed  me  night 
and  day.  She  hid  me  from  the  Cossacks  who  were 
hunting  for  an  escaped  prisoner." 

10 


146  DOROTEA  ET  CIE 

"You  were  that  prisoner?" 

Duchess  DoroteVs  face  was  very  pale. 

He  told  all  his  story  in  a  few  words. 

"  I  was  Count  Platon  Markovitch,  an  officer  in 
the  Emperor's  Third  Regiment  of  Guards.  I  was 
falsely  accused  to  my  Colonel  by  a  woman  who — 
who  wished  to  be  revenged  upon  me  for  having 
secretly  joined  the  Revolutionary  Party.  I  was 
arrested ;  there  was  no  trial,  only  a  summary  judg- 
ment. I  was  imprisoned  at  the  Fortress  of  G 

for  a  year,  then  sent  to  Siberia.  Prison  life 
maddened  me  when  it  tamed  others,  roused  in  me 
desperate  strength  where  it  enfeebled  and  killed 
the  rest.  I  escaped,  and  Ivana  was  my  guardian 
angel." 

"  Is  she  beautiful?"  asked  the  Duchess  Dorote'a, 
slowly. 

The  great  blue  eyes  that  gazed  upon  her  own 
exquisite  face  alone  answered.  They  said  : 

"  I  have  forgotten  since  I  looked  on  you  I" 

III. 

Next  day  the  kibitkas,  with  the  three  ladies  and 
their  armed  attendants,  drove  to  the  ancient 
Cossack  fortress  of  Karbav,  some  seven  versts  from 
Ortai. 

The  fortress  was  a  circular  granite  wall,  pierced 
with  loop  holes  for  musketry.  In  the  centre  of  the 
space  was  an  oblong  stone  barrack,  with  small, 


DOROTEA  ET  CIE  147 

heavily-barred  windows.  This  accommodated  the 
complicated  machinery  of  the  refining-works,  which 
the  peasants  had  set  up  under  the  instruction  of 
the  Herr  Oscar  and  the  Herr  Alexis.  A  tall 
chimney  belched  clouds  of  black  smoke,  and  the 
deafening  noise  of  a  quartz-crushing  mill  beat 
painfully  upon  the  ears.  High  up  in  the  wall  of 
the  southern  end  of  the  building  was  the  barred 
window  where  Tatiana  had  seen  the  strange  white 
face  that  had  dumbly  conveyed  to  her  the  message 
that  Ivana  was  alive. 

"But  is  she  still  living?"  wondered  the  man 
whom  she  had  saved  from  death.  "  And  if  she  be, 
will  she  read  a  truth  in  my  face  when  next  she  shall 
look  upon  it  that  will  be  worse  than  death  to  her?" 

The  gates  of  the  fortress  were  thrown  open  as 
the  three  kibitkas,  drawn  by  their  belled  troikas 
of  little,  muscular,  shaggy  horses,  approached. 
Twenty  armed  Cossacks  of  the  company,  lent  to 
the  pretended  managers  of  the  Profitable  Uranium 
Pitchblende  Syndicate  by  the  Governor-General  of 
the  Province,  turned  out  in  double  file,  and  divided, 
making  a  lane  of  fierce  faces  and  bristling  beards 
and  gleaming  weapons  for  the  visitors  to  pass 
through. 

But  the  Duchess  Dorot^a  sat  in  her  kibitka  and 
did  not  alight. 

"Tell  the  Herr  Oscar  that  Her  High  Nobility 
the  Princess  Delidoff,  Mademoiselle  Jenny  Tru- 
daine  and  the  Duchess  de  Bellaselva,  representing 


148  DOROTEA  ET  CIE 

the  governing  syndicate  and  shareholders  of  the 
Company,  have  come  to  examine  into  the  accounts 
of  his  management,"  she  said  coldly,  as  a  little, 
olive-faced,  rat-eyed  man,  heavily  wrapped  in  furs, 
appeared  upon  the  threshold  of  the  gate.  "You, 
I  presume,  are  his  friend,  the  Herr  Alexis?" 

It  was  Jurnetti,  the  Viennese  lawyer,  who  had 
deserted  his  briefs  to  follow  chemistry.  Without 
disclaiming  his  alias  he  bowed  low  to  the  ladies, 
stretching  out  his  burned  and  discoloured  hands. 

"  Be  pleased,  Mesdames,  to  enter.  Our  Cossacks 
will  entertain  your  followers  in  their  guard- 
room." 

"Mats,  parler  clair  et  net,  mon  cher  Monsieur 
Alexis!"  said  the  clear  ringing  tones  of  Jenny 
Trudaine;  "we  are  not  quite  so  simple  as  to  put 
our  heads  into  the  lion's  mouth.  Who  knows  but 
we  might  vanish  as  mysteriously  as  the  million 
and  a  half  of  roubles  subscribed  by  the  purchasers 
of  our  first  issue  of  stock  at  par  !  No,  no,  mon 
bon  Monsieur!  Where  we  go  we  are  accompanied 
by  our  four  bodyguards;  take  that  as  sure." 

Her  light  laugh  stung  a  listener.  A  tall,  white- 
haired,  elegant  old  man,  with  chiselled  aquiline 
features,  swathed  to  the  tips  of  his  delicate  ears  in 
splendid  sables,  appeared  in  the  gateway  beside 
Jurnetti  and  bowed  low  in  deferential  homage. 

"When  two  of  the  Graces  and  the  Muse  of 
Comedy  deign  to  visit  these  Arctic  regions,  the  snow 
melts,  the  sun  shines  and  the  spring  hurries  to 


DOROTEA  ET  CIE  149 

greet  them.  But  even  spring  in  Eastern  Siberia 
is  apt  to  be  nipping.  Unless  you,  Madame  la 
Princess  and  you,  Madame  la  Duchess,  desire,  with 
Mademoiselle  Jenny,  to  be  frozen  stiff,  converted 
into  exquisite  statues  of  ice,  with  your  attendants 
and  horses,  you  must  take  shelter  within  our  walls. 
Mesdames,  permit  that  I  escort  you  !"  He  offered 
an  arm  to  the  Princess,  an  arm  to  the  Duchess. 
Jurnetti,  his  black  eyes  sparkling,  extended  his 
lean  elbow  to  Jenny  Trudaine.  Followed  by 
Markoff  Platon,  Gazzi  and  their  Cossacks,  they 
entered  the  fortress  of  Karbav ;  the  troikas  were 
led  in  after  them  and  the  gates  closed. 

"To  keep  out  wolves!"  whispered  Jurnetti  to 
Mademoiselle  Trudaine.  She  gave  him  a  glance  of 
disdain  for  his  malignant  smile. 

"The  wolf  indoors,  Monsieur,  is  sometimes 
worse  than  the  wolf  at  the  threshold." 

She  looked  about  her  with  bright,  observant  eyes. 
The  inside  of  the  granite-walled  enclosure  was 
littered  with  huge  mounds  of  blackish  yellow  stone, 
broken  small  for  the  crushing  mill  that  reared  its 
clumsy  bulk  at  the  further  end  under  a  rude  shelter 
of  planks  and  canvas.  Barrow-loads  of  powdery 
crushings  were  being  wheeled  away  by  a  few 
miserable-looking  peasants  of  Litchinsk.  The  dust 
of  pitchblende  made  black  streaks  upon  the  white- 
ness of  the  snow. 

"Ah,  bah!  we  are  more  pleasant  within," 
sneered  Jurnetti. 


ISO  DOROTEA  ET  CIE 

He  led  Jenny  forward,  Platon,  Gazzl  and  the 
Cossacks  following.  The  heavy  timber,  iron- 
studded  doors  of  the  oblong  stone  building  within 
the  loopholed  walls,  opened  to  admit  the  party. 
They  crossed  a  flagged  vestibule,  a  guard-room 
upon  one  side,  servants'  quarters  on  the  other,  and 
entered  a  long  room.  Heavy  beams  supported  the 
rafters  above;  a  huge  fire  of  logs  burned  upon  the 
hearth  ;  a  library  of  works  on  mineralogy,  anatomy, 
chemistry  and  physiology  filled  low  bookcases. 
The  walls  were  hung  and  the  boards  of  the  floor 
covered  with  pelts  of  wolf  and  bear. 

"You  will  take  some  refreshment,  Mesdames?" 
inquired  the  Prince  of  Sidonia  as  he  offered  seats 
to  the  ladies,  and  threw  more  logs  upon  the  roar- 
ing fire,  and  begged  them  to  remove  their  furs,  and 
was  relieved  of  his  own  by  the  assiduous  Jurnetti. 

"I  thank  you,  no,  Monsieur,"  said  the  Duchess 
Dorotea.  "Our  errand  is  merely  to  make  inquiry 
into  several  irregularities  of  which  myself  and  other 
members  of  the  Syndicate  were  informed  in  Paris 
recently.  First,  we  wish  to  know  how  it  happens 
that  your  report  as  to  the  non-existence  of  uranium 
pitchblende  ore  in  the  abandoned  silver-workings 
of  Ortai  and  Litchinsk  should  be  so  abundantly 
contradicted  by  the  evidence  of  our  own  eyes? 
Secondly,  we  would,  without  inconvenience  to  your- 
self, desire  to  be  informed  why  you,  our  Perpetual 
Grand  Chairman,  and  Herr  Jurnetti,  who  is  a  life 
director  of  our  Company,  are  masquerading  here 


DOROTEA  ET  CIE  151 

as  ordinary  employes,  and  where  you  have  de- 
posited the  million  and  a  half  of  roubles  which 
were  paid  in  by  the  purchasers  of  the  first  issue  of 
stock?  Finally,  we  have  to  request  that  you  will 
deliver  up  into  our  charge  the  elder  daughter  of 
Ivan  Vassily,  whom  you  abducted  from  the 
dwelling  of  her  parents  nearly  two  years  ago.  We 
know  that  she  is  alive,"  the  Duchess  added,  as  the 
grey,  twinkling  eyes  of  M.  de  Sidonia  sought  the 
ceiling,  and  he  twirled  his  white  moustache  thought- 
fully with  a  beautifully  manicured  hand. 

"  Ah,  you  know  that  the  young  woman  is  alive, 
Madame  !  Good  !"  said  the  Prince,  whom  we  will 
no  more  call  Herr  Oscar.  "Then  I  will  answer 
your  other  questions.  Firstly,  know  that  the  report 
of  the  non-existence  of  the  pitchblende,  reaching 
myself  and  my  partner  Herr  Jurnetti,  decided  us 
upon  travelling  to  Eastern  Siberia  in  the  characters 
of  humble  agents  of  the  Syndicate,  and  satisfying 
ourselves  of  the  truth  or  falsehood  of  the  statement 
that  had  been  made.  Secondly,  we  needed  money 
for  the  journey,  and  as  the  million  and  a  half  of 
roubles  that  had  been  subscribed  for  working 
capital  were  available,  we  decided  upon  employing 
them  in  the  purchase  of  machinery  for  the  develop- 
ment of  the  mineral  resources  we  found,  after  all, 
to  exist  upon  the  spot.  Thirdly,  had  you  not 
answered  the  question  for  yourself,  I  should  have 
had  the  honour  to  inform  you  that  the  young 
woman  in  question  is  perfectly  well,  quite  con- 


j52  DOROTEA  ET  CIE 

tented  with  her  situation  as  housekeeper  to  two 
elderly  bachelors  of  unblemished  reputation 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Jenny  Trudaine,  as  if  in- 
voluntarily. 

"And  not  at  all  inclined  to  relinquish  it,"  M.  de 
Sidonia  ended,  smilingly.  But  his  twinkling  grey 
eyes  dealt  Jenny  Trudaine  a  look  of  envenomed 
anger. 

The  actress  did  not  see  it.  Her  gaze  was  fixed 
on  Markoff  Platen's  death-white  face  and  blazing 
violet  eyes.  He  leaned  against  the  wall,  between 
the  Princess's  Cossacks,  and  clenched  his  hands ;  his 
great  chest  heaved  and  his  close  blond  curls  seemed 
to  rise  upon  his  head  with  rage.  Fierce  words 
would  have  burst  from  him,  but  a  look  from  the 
Duchess  Dorote"a  had  silenced  them  upon  his  lips. 

"Then,  M.  le  Prince,  since  this  is  so,  you  will 
permit  me,  as  the  deputy  representing  the  girl's 
parents,"  said  the  Duchess's  velvety  Italian  voice, 
"  to  see  Ivana  Vassily,  and  hear  from  her  own  lips 
her  decision  to  remain  with  you?" 

There  was  a  profound  silence,  only  broken  by 
the  breathing  of  the  people  in  the  room  and  the 
roaring  of  the  fire.  It  was  Jenny  Trudaine,  that 
skilled  professional  observer,  who  saw  the  Prince's 
twinkling  eyes  dart,  as  if  in  question,  to  the  crafty 
face  of  Jurnetti.  She  saw  Jurnetti's  pale  lips  shape 
the  word  "  No  I"  She  struck  in,  lightly  : 

"Christian  charity,  mon  Prince — possibly  mis- 
placed, but  Christian  charity  still — having  induced 


DOROTEA  ET  CIE  153 

Madame  la  Duchesse  de  Bellaselva  to  swear  upon 
the  Ikons  to  the  parents  of  your  young  protegee 
that  she  would  not  leave  Karbav  without  having 
obtained  sight  and  speech  of  Ivana,  your  refusal 
would  place  our  entire  party  under  the  unfortunate 
necessity  of  remaining  here  as  your  guests  for  an 
indefinite  time." 

The  Prince  bowed  and  smiled. 

"You  cruelly  tempt  me  to  be  obdurate.  Never- 
theless  " 

"Nevertheless,"  put  in  Jurnetti,  his  parchment 
face  creased  with  a  mechanical  smile,  and  his  round 
black  eyes  furtively  watching  Dorot^a  under  their 
discoloured  lids,  "M.  le  Prince  will  throw  no 
obstacle  in  the  way  of  Madame  de  Bellaselva 's 
desire.  She  is  at  liberty  to  visit  Ivana  Vassily  in 
her  apartment  if  she  chooses."  He  drew  a  sharp 
hissing  breath,  and  added:  "But  she  must  go 
there  alone  !" 

"No!"  thundered  Markoff  Platon.  The  Prince 
of  Sidonia,  unmoved  and  smiling,  put  up  a  double 
eyeglass,  framed  in  tortoiseshell,  and  calmly  in- 
spected the  speaker. 

"  We  have  met  this  young  man  before  !"  he  said 
to  Jurnetti.  Then  turning  to  the  Duchess,  "your 
decision,  Madame?"  he  said,  smiling  again  very 
sweetly.  "  My  partner  has  given  you  the  choice  !" 

"Make  an  exception,  M.  le  Prince,"  said  the 
silvery,  ringing  voice  of  Jenny  Trudaine.  "  Permit 
me  to  accompany  Madame  de  Bellaselva." 


154  DOROTEA  ET  CIE 

A  look  passed  between  Jurnetti  and  the  Prince. 
Jurnetti  instructed  with  a  glance,  and  Sidonia 
obeyed.  "  So  be  it,  Mademoiselle,"  he  said,  "  your 
request  is  granted.  Permit  me!"  He  gave  his  arm 
to  the  Duchess  Dorote"a,  and  led  her  quickly  out  of  the 
room  by  a  door  that  was  near  the  huge  Cyclopean 
fireplace.  Jurnetti  followed  with  Jenny  Trudaine. 
As  she  passed  Markoff  the  comedienne  whispered  : 

"  If  there  is  treachery  you  will  hear  a  revolver- 
shot." 

"My  God!"  he  muttered,  clenching  his  hands 
in  agony,  as  the  door  closed  upon  the  retreating 
jrou-jrou  of  silken-lined  skirts.  "How  can  I  wait 
— how  can  I  wait  for  that?" 

The  Prince  fell  back  to  admit  of  the  Duchess's 
preceding  him,  as  he  unlocked  a  heavy  door  that 
confronted  them  at  the  end  of  a  stone  corridor. 
Instantly  Jenny  Trudaine  stepped  past  him  and 
took  DoroteVs  arm.  There  was  tenderness  in  her 
pale  myosotis-coloured  eyes,  and  in  the  smile  that 
showed  the  great  actress's  pearly  little  teeth  as 
DoroteVs  warm  and  affectionate  look  answered  to 
the  pressure.  Sidonia  did  not  see  the  glance.  He 
was  whispering  to  Jurnetti. 

"Si  la  corde  ne  rompre?" 

Jenny's  quick  ear  caught  the  words. 

"If  no  hitch  occurs — if  no  accident  happens  I 
Ah,  ah  !  Messieurs  the  conspirators  are  not  quite 
certain  1"  She  grinned  like  a  mischievous  gamin 
as  she  felt  the  little  revolver  safe  in  its  pocket  in 


DOROTEA  ET  CIE  155 

her  dress  and  the  little  snake-skin  cartridge-pouch 
hanging  at  her  waist.  She  had  her  Chinese  sleeve- 
dog  under  her  arm,  tucked  beneath  her  cape  of 
sables.  He  wriggled  restlessly,  and  seemed  afraid. 

They  went  through  several  huge,  bare,  unplastered 
rooms.  A  great  brick  furnace  was  in  the  first,  and 
strange  machines  for  sifting  the  crushed  pitch- 
blende, separating  the  uranium,  and  extracting, 
condensing,  and  refining  the  priceless  radium 
chloride,  a  pound  (avoirdupois)  of  which  costs 
'^340,000  sterling  to  produce,  and  necessitates  the 
employment  of  1,700  tons  of  ore  for  its  extraction. 
Plans,  charts,  anatomical  drawings,  and  strangely 
shaped  vessels  of  glass  were  in  another  room,  in 
which  stood  a  table  covered  with  sheet  lead,  beside 
which  was  a  curious  machine  with  rubber  bands 
and  pulleys,  and  belts  of  webbing,  all  adaptable 
for  the  adjustment  of  senseless  weights  upon  that 
sinister  table. 

"Did  they  lock  the  door  behind  them?" 
wondered  Jenny  Trudaine,  as  the  Prince  and 
Jurnetti  rejoined  the  ladies.  She  was  brave,  but 
she  knew  a  chill  of  horror  as  she  noted  certain 
curious  details  about  the  room. 

"You  have  seen  our  chemical  laboratory,"  the 
Prince  was  saying  in  his  smooth,  false  voice. 
"Now,  Mesdames,  you  behold  the  studio  where 
our  biological  experiments  are  carried  out." 

"Biology,  I  think,  is  the  science  of  life?"  said 
the  Duchess  Dorote"a,  abruptly. 


156  DOROTEA  ET  CIE 

"But  certainly,  Madame!"  acquiesced  Jurnetti, 
with  a  display  of  his  rat-like  teeth. 

"  And  vivisection  would  be  more  appropriately 
named  the  science  of  death,"  pursued  the  Duchess, 
with  a  shiver,  as  she  looked  about  her  at  the  cases 
of  instruments,  the  bands  and  pulleys,  the  strangely 
shaped  bottles  and  jars  upon  the  shelves. 

" Sapristi  "  exclaimed  Jurnetti,  coarsely;  "you 
don't  suspect  His  Highness  of  pithing  live  cats 
and  isolating  the  brains  of  rabbits,  and  extirpating 
the  nervous  centres  in  guinea-pigs  for  the  sake  of 
adding  to  his  knowledge  of  the  glorious  human 
subject?" 

The  Viennese  spoke  with  strange  heat.  An  ugly 
red  light  flickered  in  his  bright  black  rat-eyes. 
Jenny  Trudaine,  looking  at  him,  suspected  that 
the  genius  of  the  lawyer-chemist  was  allied  to 
insanity.  And  she  suspected  something  else. 
What  if  these  two  men  had  buried  themselves  in 
this  wild  and  frozen  desolation  together  —  not 
entirely  for  the  purpose  of  manufacturing  radium, 
not  merely  to  test  its  efficacy  as  a  therapeutic  agent, 
but  to  prosecute  some  terrible  course  of  experiment 
upon  the  living  human  subject,  beyond  the  reach 
of  civilisation's  life-protecting  laws? 


DOROTEA  ET  CIE  157 

IV. 

She  had  put  her  tiny  finger  on  the  secret,  that 
even  Markoff  Platon  had  not  guessed,  in  its 
hideous  entirety,  even  before  the  Prince  of  Sidonia 
signed  to  Jurnetti,  and  the  Viennese  ex-lawyer, 
drawing  a  strangely-shaped  key  from  an  inner 
pocket,  drew  back  a  leather  curtain,  heavily 
weighted  at  the  bottom,  and  unlocked  a  door  it 
masked.  Before  them  was  darkness,  velvety,  in- 
tense. Behind  them  Jenny  and  the  Duchess 
Dorot£a  heard  the  stealthy  closing  and  locking  of 
the  door.  Holding  each  other's  hands,  they  stood, 
not  daring  to  advance  upon  the  unknown,  and  their 
hearts  might  have  been  heard  throbbing  in  the 
silence,  as  the  voice  of  the  Prince  said  solemnly 
behind  them  : 

"Advance,  Alexis  Jurnetti,  Master  of  Experi- 
mental Chemists  !  Supreme  Arch-Hierophant  in 
Biology !  Within  this  room  thou  art  supreme. 
We  are  but  children  at  thy  knees — slaves  at  thy 
footstool !" 

Someone  brushed  by  Jenny  Trudaine  in  the  dark- 
ness. She  clutched  DoroteVs  cold  hand  tightly. 
For  her  life  she  could  not  restrain  a  little  choking 
gasp  of  sheer  fright.  And  at  that  she  heard 
Sidonia's  little  whinnying,  evil  laugh  behind  her, 
and  rallied  all  her  powers  to  fight  down  fear. 

"  Zut  alors!"  she  called  out  in  the  very  accent 
of  a  gamin  of  her  Paris.  "Ring  up  the  curtain, 


158  DOROTEA  ET  CIE 

will  you,  Messieurs  !     Don't  keep  us  sitting  in  the 
dark!"       , 

"  Silence !"  said  the  voice  of  Sidonia  behind  the 
women ;  and  it  shook  and  quivered  in  its  sup- 
pressed rage.  "Do  you  not  see  that  it  is  getting 
lighter?  Look — straight  before  you — and  if  you 
are  wise,  Mesdames,  do  not  either  of  you  advance 
a  step!" 

Something  glimmered  in  the  blackness.  A  spot 
of  brilliance  appeared,  and  seemed  to  hover;  it 
might  have  been  twenty  feet  distant  from  where 
the  two  women  were  standing,  and  at  the  height  of 
six  or  seven  feet  above  the  level  of  the  floor. 
Presently  it  was  a  lambent  phosphorescent  radi- 
ance, not  still  and  coldly  white,  but  throbbing  and 
pulsating  with  primary  colours,  ranging  from  the 
darkest  and  most  vivid  violet  and  the  loveliest  blue 
to  pale  green,  fading  to  lemon  and  yellow,  flashing 
to  rose-colour,  ripening  to  ruby-red  and  ending  in 
a  trumpet-note  of  orange,  round  a  dark  nucleus, 
the  nature  of  which  it  was  not  at  first  possible  to 
define. 

"  M  on  Dieu!  how  beautiful!"  muttered  Jenny 
Trudaine.  "  But  the  heat,  how  it  oppresses.  Is 
there  a  furnace  near?" 

The  heat  was  intense,  and  in  the  silence  it  seemed 
as  if  those  pulsating  polychromatic  rays  surround- 
ing the  nucleus  of  energy  gave  off  a  sound  like 
the  fanning  of  giant  wings.  And  the  dark  nucleus 
began  to  pale  and  grow  luminous. 


DOROTEA  ET  CIE  159 

Now,  too,  the  women  were  conscious  that  they 
stood  upon  metal,  and  that  a  pale,  greyish  light 
began  to  emanate  from  it.  Now  they  saw  that  the 
walls  and  ceiling  of  the  long  room  in  which  they 
stood  were  covered  with  sheets  of  the  same  metallic 
substance,  emitting  the  same  pale  light,  and  that 
there  were  no  windows,  only  ventilators  high  up  in 
the  wall. 

And  they  saw  that  the  throbbing  radiance  had 
for  its  centre  the  head  of  a  woman.  And  presently 
her  face  shone  out,  and  it  was  from  that  and  from 
her  whole  body  that  the  light  came. 

She  sat  upon  a  glass  chair  with  a  high  back, 
against  which  her  head  leaned,  and  with  arms  on 
which  her  hands  rested.  Her  feet,  bare  and 
beautifully  shaped,  rested  on  a  glass  footstool. 
She  was  as  pale  as  snow,  and  on  either  side  of  the 
snow  face  a  plait  of  golden  hair  hung  down  nearly 
to  the  floor.  She  wore  the  costume  of  her  province, 
but  the  Ivana  Vassily  who  had  succoured  Markoff 
Platon  had  never  worn  rich  gleaming  silks  like 
these,  or  a  head-dress  and  necklace  and  girdle 
sparkling  with  gold  and  jewels.  Nor  had  Ivana's 
great  black  eyes  ever  gleamed  with  such  intoler- 
able appalling  brightness. 

"  Sapristi!"  thought  Jenny,  "  this  must  be  she — 
Ivana  Vassily  !  A  la  fin  vous  voila,  ma  belle,  and 
what  have  these  two  jugglers  done  to  make  you 
look  so  ?  Almost  one  could  believe  that  you  were 
dead,  and  they  had  conjured  a  devil  into  that  lovely 


160  DOROTEA  ET  CIE 

body  of  yours.  Else  what  is  it  glares  out  of  your 
great  eyes  ?  Not  a  woman's  soul  1" 

The  voice  of  Jurnetti  broke  in  upon  her 
thoughts. 

"Madame  de  Bellaselva  and  Mademoiselle  Tru- 
daine,  you  now  are  in  the  presence  of  my  adopted 
daughter  and  beloved  pupil,  Ivana  Vassily.  Speak 
to  her,  since  it  is  your  desire.  Ask  her  whether 
she  is  happy  here,  and  if  she  wishes  to  return  to 
share  the  poverty  of  her  parents?" 

"Speak  without  fear,  I  beg  of  you,  Ivana,"  said 
the  sweet,  trembling  voice  of  Duchess  Dorote"a. 
And  a  strange,  expressionless,  hollow  voice 
answered  her  : 

"  Ivana  speaks  without  fear." 

Jenny  Trudaine  felt  the  Prince  shuddering  be- 
hind her.  A  sudden  idea  flashed  across  her  vivid 
little  brain.  Before  Dorotea  could  speak  again,  she 
interrupted : 

"You  stand  too  near  your  subject,  M.  Jurnetti. 
One  has  met  with  hypnotists  in  one's  time.  Oblige 
by  turning  your  back  upon  Mademoiselle." 

"You  are  clever,  ma  belle  Jenny!"  said  the 
Viennese  lawyer-chemist,  with  a  rasping  laugh. 
"But  not  quite  clever  enough!"  He  wheeled 
round  with  his  back  to  Ivana,  and  folded  his  arms 
upon  his  breast.  "Proceed  with  your  questions, 
Madame,"  he  said  to  Dorotea. 

The  Duchess  continued,  growing  more  and  more 
agitated  : 


DOROTEA  ET  CIE  161 

"Do  you  not  wish  to  return  to  your  parents, 
Ivana?" 

Slowly  the  hollow  answer  came  from  the  stiff 
white  lips  that  were  parted,  showing  the  gleaming 
teeth  : 

"  Ivana  does  not  wish  to  return  !" 

"  Not  even  to  greet  Markoff  Platon,  who 
journeyed  all  the  way  to  Paris  to  bring  help  to 
you?" 

There  was  a  silence  that  seemed  to  anger  Jurnetti. 
Jenny  Trudaine  heard  him  draw  his  breath  sharply, 
and  stamp  his  foot  upon  the  metal-covered  floor. 

"Ah-h!"  The  Prince  drew  a  hissing  inspira- 
tion. "  So  we  owe  your  visit,  Madame  la  Duchesse, 
to  Markoff  Platon  ?  A  determined,  painstaking 
young  man.  Well,  he  shall  be  rewarded!  If 
Ivana  still  wishes  to  marry  him,  she  is  free  to  do 
so.  My  partner  consents,  and  for  my  part  I  will 
bestow  upon  the  young  people  a  dower  of  forty 
thousand  roubles.  You  are  listening,  Ivana?" 
And  he  laughed  his  goatish,  whinnying  laugh. 

"I  hear,"  came  the  dead,  monotonous  voice, 
"but  I  do  not  wish  to  wed  with  Markoff  Platon. 
I  remain  at  Karbav  with  the  Master  !" 

In  the  dimness,  in  which  only  the  face  and  form 
of  Ivana  showed  out  dazzlingly  clear,  with  that 
coruscating  nimbus  of  coloured  rays  about  the  head, 
Jenny  Trudaine  now  extricated  her  little  hand  from 
the  trembling  grasp  of  DoroteVs  larger  one.  She 
moved  to  her  right,  and  nearer  the  wall.  Now  she 

ii 


162  DOROTEA  ET  CIE 

could  see  that  a  glass  table  stood  behind  the  glass 
chair  in  which  that  strange,  mysterious  figure  sat 
enthroned,  and  that  a  ceaseless  stream  of  brilliant, 
effervescing  particles,  proceeding  from  an  orange- 
sized  bulb  of  glass  that  was  inserted  in  a  block  of 
dull,  lead-like  metal,  supported  by  the  table,  cease- 
lessly sprayed — one  can  find  no  better  word — upon 
the  back  of  the  head  of  the  seated  woman.  The 
mind  of  the  comedienne  was  quick  in  leaping  to 
a  conclusion.  Unseen  by  the  Prince  or  Jurnetti, 
she  drew  a  step  nearer. 

Now  she  could  see  that  the  upper  part  of  the 
bulb  elongated  into  a  vertical  tube,  which  had  a 
stop-cock,  and  a  cross-piece  bent  downwards 
towards  its  end,  also  controlled  by  a  stop-cock,  and 
terminating  in  a  smaller  bulb,  supported  between 
the  padded  jaws  of  a  kind  of  metal  vice.  And  the 
whole  apparatus,  on  its  stand  of  polished  glass 
behind  the  glass  chair  which  supported  the  motion- 
less body  of  the  Russian  girl,  reminded  Jenny 
Trudaine  of  something  she  had  seen  in  the  lecture- 
room  of  the  greatest  of  French  demonstrating 
chemists.  Unnoticed  she  drew  her  dainty  little 
revolver  and  cocked  it.  The  tiny  click  attracted 
the  attention  of  the  Prince  of  Sidonia. 

"What  was  that?"  he  cried  angrily,  "return  to 
your  place,  Mademoiselle  Trudaine.  Do  not 
advance  a  step  nearer,  on  peril  of  your  life  !" 

The  sharp  crack  of  a  revolver  answered  Sidonia. 
The  glass  globe  behind  the  head  of  Ivana  flew  into 


DOROTEA  ET  CIE  163 

fragments  that  were  scattered  with  a  tinkling  sound. 
Jurnetti  screamed  out  shrilly  with  a  horrible  oath. 
Instantly  the  room  was  plunged  in  darkness,  and 
with  the  darkness  came  the  heavy  concussion  of 
something  heavy  and  inanimate  falling  on  the 
metal-covered  floor. 

"  Sacrebleu!  She-devil  of  the  coulisses,  you  have 
ruined  all !"  snarled  Sidonia.  And  the  clear  ring- 
ing voice  of  Jenny  answered  back  defiantly  : 

"  Zut  alors,  mon  viellard!  Did  you  think  to  take 
us  in  with  a  deception  like  that  ?  Tell  yonder  dead 
woman  to  speak  now,  and  see  if  she  will  answer 
you  !  Ah,  bah  ! — stupid  that  you  are  !" 

There  came  with  the  actress's  silvery  laugh  of 
mockery,  a  beating  on  a  distant  locked  door,  and  a 
heavy  crash  as  it  was  broken  in,  and  the  rush  of 
men's  heavy  footsteps  across  the  laboratory  and 
the  experimenting-room,  and  a  ripping  sound  as 
they  tore  away  the  leather  curtain,  and  there  was  a 
thunder  of  axes  and  rifle-butts  upon  the  metal- 
lined  door  that  the  Prince  had  locked  and  bolted. 

"  Dorote'a  !"  shouted  the  voice  of  Markoff  Platon. 
"Dorote"a!" 

"  He  does  not  think  of  me  !"  flashed  through  the 
mind  of  Jenny  Trudaine.  Then  a  hand  passed  over 
her  shoulder  from  behind  and  covered  her  mouth, 
and  a  sharp,  icy  pang  of  anguish  pierced  her 
bosom.  It  was  like  being  burned  with  a  hot  iron 
between  the  left  shoulder  and  breast,  and  the 
revolver  fell  from  her  hand. 


164  DOROTEA  ET  CIE 

"A  parting  gift,  Mademoiselle!"  said  Sidonia's 
voice.  He  laughed  his  little  hateful,  whinnying 
laugh.  Then  footsteps  crossed  the  metal  floor.  A 
whiff  of  icy-cold  air  came  upwards  as  a  trap  was 
lifted,  and  fell  an  instant  later  with  a  heavy  crash. 
And  then — the  door  that  the  rescuers  assailed  gave 
way  to  their  united  efforts. 

"Stand  back  !"  cried  the  voice  of  Markoff,  as  a 
central  panel  crashed  in  and  pale  daylight  came 
through  with  the  clutching  hands  that  wrenched 
and  tore  the  gap  yet  wider. 

"  Dorot^a,  are  you  there?  Speak  to  me, 
Dorot^a !  Bring  torches  quickly !  All  here  is 
dark !  Ah,  speak  to  me,  Dorote"a,  for  the  love  of 
heaven  I" 

He  saw  her.  She  was  bending  over  Jenny 
Trudaine,  supporting  the  slight  figure  in  a  sitting 
posture.  The  fair,  waved  head  of  the  comedienne 
lay  helplessly  on  her  breast ;  a  warm  stream  trickled 
over  the  hand  Dorote"a  clasped  her  with  ;  her  breath 
came  in  long  gasping  sighs. 

"Answer  him,  ma  belle,"  the  weak  voice 
whispered.  "  He  only  asks  for  you  !" 

*  *  *  *  * 

They  bore  the  dying  actress  from  that  sinister 
room,  and  took  up  the  body  of  Ivana  Vassily, 
which,  now  that  the  strange  artificial  life  main- 
tained in  the  brain-centres  by  the  constant  emana- 
tions from  the  radium-salts  the  shattered  bulb  had 
contained  had  been  withdrawn,  presented  the 


DOROTEA  ET  CIE  165 

appearance  of  a  corpse  long  dead,  clad  in  poor  and 
shabby  peasant  clothes,  and  placed  it  in  a  rudely- 
improvised  wooden  coffin  for  transport  to  her  home. 
The  Prince  and  Jurnetti  were  nowhere  to  be  found. 
The  Cossacks  of  their  guard,  in  default  of  orders, 
made  no  attempt  to  detain  the  party.  The  name 
of  the  Princess  Delidoff  had  overawed  them,  and 
when  her  Highness  undertook  to  answer  to  the 
military  governor  of  the  province  for  their  fidelity 
and  good  behaviour,  and  sprinkled  gold  upon  them 
from  her  well-filled  purse,  they  were  even  content. 

Jenny  Trudaine  died  before  daybreak.  No 
surgeon,  even  had  a  skilful  one  been  at  hand,  could 
have  staunched  that  inward  bleeding  of  the  wound 
the  long,  needle-sharp  dagger  had  dealt  her. 
Whether  her  murderer  had  been  the  Prince  of 
Sidonia  or  the  lawyer -chemist,  Jurnetti,  she 
resolutely  refused  to  say. 

"My  mother  was  a  femme  de  chambre,"  she 
whispered  to  the  Princess,  with  the  ghost  of  her 
old  gay  laugh  upon  her  white  lips.  "  But  her 
daughter  can  keep  a  secret." 

She  lay  silent  a  little  while,  her  hand  in  Dorotea's. 

"Ma  belle,  I  may  be  presumptuous — things  will 
be  so  soon  over,  "she  said.  "  I  know  that  you  love  this 
brave  gentleman,  Count  Platon  Markovitch,  and, 
believe  me,  his  whole  heart  is  yours.  In  gratitude 
he  would  have  married  the  poor  Ivana,  who  saved 
his  life.  Count  it  to  him  for  virtue,  that  even  when 
he  knew  that  another  was  the  mistress  of  his  soul, 


i66  DOROTEA  ET  CIE 

he  left  no  stone  unturned  to  save  her — poor  victim 
of  those  strange  and  terrible  experiments.  Well, 
she  will  rest  in  peace  in  her  cold  grave  now,  and 
I — Mon  Dieu,  how  I  suffer  1 ' ' 

She  lay  scarcely  breathing  after  the  sharp  agony 
passed.  Then  the  white  lips  moved  again. 

"Monsieur  Platon." 

"Call  him!"  whispered  Dorote"a ;  and  the  Prin- 
cess rustled  softly  to  the  door.  He  came  and  knelt 
beside  the  bed  of  planks  and  cushions,  and  touched 
with  his  lips  the  little  white  hand  that  could  shoot 
so  straight  with  the  revolver,  and  Jenny's  turquoise 
eyes  opened  and  looked  into  his  that  were  like  dark 
sapphires  under  his  broad  fair  brows.  And  she 
laughed  a  little  silvery  chime. 

' '  Mon  ami,  I  always  said  you  were  too  well- 
bred  for  a  peasant.  You  have  suffered  much,  but 
happier  days  will  dawn  for  you.  Her  Highness 
will  obtain  your  pardon  from  the  Emperor — all 
will  be  well!"  The  turquoise  eyes  were  full  of 
terror.  "Who  spoke  outside?  They  have 
captured  the  Prince?  They  will — tell  them  I  said 
it  was  not  murder  I  Tell  them  to  let  him  go  !" 

The  Count  soothed  her,  telling  her  that  the 
Prince  and  Jurnetti  had  escaped,  with  all  that 
was  left  of  the  million  and  a  half  of  roubles,  but 
that  the  store  of  radium  the  shattered  bulb  had 
contained,  and  which  had  been  accumulated  by 
incessant  labour  during  the  confederates'  two- 
years'  residence  at  Karbav,  had  been  gathered  from 


DOROTEA  ET  CIE  167 

the  floor  of  the  experimenting-chamber,  and  would 
probably  recoup  the  loss  of  the  Syndicate  when  sold 
in  Paris. 

"Let  my  share  be  given  to  the  poor,"  gasped 
Jenny. 

She  was  suffocating.  The  strong  arm  of  Platon 
Markovitch  lifted  her.  Her  dying  head  lay  on  his 
broad  breast,  her  hand  in  DoroteVs. 

"That  is  better.  Thanks.  Give  me  a  little  kiss 
when  I  am  dead.  My  friend  Dorot^a  will  not  be 
jealous.  For  I  knew  that  he  would  murder  me  for 
what  I  meant  to  do.  Yet  I  did  it  all  the  same." 
Her  silvery  laugh  tinkled  faintly  close  to  his  ear. 
"  Noblesse  oblige.  For  my  mother  was  a  femme  de 
chambre,  'tis  true,  but  my  father  was — a  Prince!" 
said  Jenny  Trudaine;  and  died  as  bravely  as  any 
legitimate  daughter  of  the  old  heroic,  noble  house 
of  Sidonia  ! 


THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP. 

I. 

THE  interior  of  the  Widow  Gammon's  modest  two- 
roomed  dwelling,  was  remarkable  solely  for  its 
strong  family  resemblance  to  the  interiors  of  the 
irregular  parallelogram  of  cottages,  similarly  built 
of  mud  and  rubble,  that  faced  each  other  across  the 
Goose  Green  of  Long  Dittoes,  in  the  county  of 
Berks.  The  dresser  boasted,  it  may  be,  a  gaudier 
array  of  "fairings"  in  juxtaposition  with  its 
dangling  rows  of  household  crockery,  the  cooking- 
utensils  in  the  stall  beneath  were  a  shade  less  sooty, 
the  Windsor  arm-chair  displayed  a  chintz-covered 
cushion  of  similar  pattern  to  the  design  of  the  petti- 
coat flounces  tacked  over  the  shallow  double-case- 
mented  window,  and  the  high  mantelshelf  above 
the  narrow  cooking-range,  the  pewter  plate  and 
mustard-pot,  and  the  two  brass  candlesticks  that 
flanked  the  white-faced  clock  upon  the  mantelshelf 
were  polished,  as  befitted  family  heirlooms,  and  the 
high-backed  wooden  settle,  the  seat  of  which  con- 
cealed a  box  for  the  concealment  of  extra  bedding, 
was  shiny  as  beeswax  and  turpentine  could  make  it. 
Left  of  the  range,  a  doorway  without  a  door  revealed 
the  lower  rungs  of  a  ladder-stairway  leading  to  the 

1 68 


THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP  169 

garret  where  Mrs.  Gammon  was  engaged  in  clean- 
ing; the  whitewashed  boards  forming  the  ceiling 
quivered  on  their  worm-eaten  joists  beneath  the 
widow's  ponderous  tread. 

The  white-faced  horologe  upon  the  mantelshelf 
had  emitted  a  rattling  noise  preparatory  to  strik- 
ing, when  the  church-tower  clock  chimed  the  open- 
ing bars  of  "Abide  with  Me,"  dropping  some 
notes,  and  slurring  others,  and  whanged  twelve 
strokes.  Simultaneously  a  sunbonneted  shadow 
fell  across  the  geraniums  and  calceolarias  that  were 
ranged  upon  the  window  seat,  and  Absalom  Penny, 
who  was  seated  on  a  three-legged  stool  at  the  corner 
of  the  kitchen  table,  gloomily  eating  bread  and  cold 
bacon  with  a  clasp-knife,  from  the  advertisement- 
back-sheet  of  The  Sunday  Intelligence,  reddened, 
bolted  a  mouthful  only  partly  masticated,  and 
choked  self-consciously. 

But  the  shadow  was  withdrawn,  and  Absalom, 
removing  the  paper  cork  from  a  flat  tin  bottle  that 
stood  at  his  elbow,  had  time  to  interpose  the  bottom 
of  the  vessel  between  his  blushes  and  the  entering 
visitor,  before  the  door-latch  jerked  up  and  a  fresh- 
complexioned,  red-haired,  rather  sharp-eyed  young 
woman  of  seventeen,  known  to  Long  Dittoes  as 
"  Wilkes's  Susy,"  appeared  upon  the  worn  stone 
threshold  against  a  background  of  August  sun- 
shine, blooming  lavender-bushes  and  flaming  holly- 
hocks. The  sunbonnet  she  had  removed  dangled 
from  the  plump  pink  ringers  of  one  hand,  the  other 


170  THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP 

hand  supported  a  marketing-basket  with  two 
handles  and  a  broken  lid. 

"So  there  you  be,  Absalom  Penny,"  said  Susy 
Wilks  the  visitor,  with  ironic  emphasis,  "and  no 
wonder  you  baint  able  to  look  I  in  the  face  !" 

Absalom  Penny's  possible  retort  was  lost  in 
the  depths  of  the  tin  bottle.  When  finally  he 
emerged  from  behind  it  you  might  have  seen  him 
as  a  weedy,  high-complexioned,  narrow-shouldered 
young  man  of  eighteen,  with  tow-coloured  hair  and 
round  pale  eyes,  garbed  in  earth-stained  corduroy 
trousers  and  a  calico-sleeved  waistcoat,  the  jacket 
appertaining  to  these  garments  having  been  re- 
moved for  coolness,  and  hanging  from  a  nail  at 
the  back  of  the  door.  He  was  further  distinguished 
by  an  aggressively  large  and  clean  shirt-collar  of 
the  obsolete  Gladstonian  brand,  and  a  voluminous 
spotted  neckcloth  of  extinct  sporting  fashion,  the 
ends  of  which  hung  loose  over  the  sleeved  waist- 
coat, and  intercepted  his  food  on  the  way  to  his 
mouth,  as  he  cut  and  chewed  his  bread  and  cold 
bacon,  staring  gloomily  at  the  newspaper,  with  a 
clumsy  pretence  of  being  absorbed. 

"  Absalom,  don't  you  hear  I  ?"  said  Miss  Wilks, 
after  a  pause  of  dreadful  duration. 

"Noa!"  said  Absalom,  breathing  heavily.  As 
Miss  Wilks  regarded  him  with  scorn,  thrice-re- 
torted, he  took  refuge  among  the  advertisements. 
"'Is  Your  'Ouse'old  Plagewed  by  Rats?'"  he 
spelt  out ;  "  '  Put  down  V-i-r-i-n-e  and  be  Free  from 


THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP  171 

the  Pest.  6d.  a  packet.  Cheap  at  the  price.'  I 
wunner  if  th'  stuff  'urts  much  to  take?"  he  added, 
darkly  conscious  of  the  contemptuous  stare  that 
raked  him.  "  But  wuther  it  dew  or  wuther  it 
doant,  sixpence  a  packet  be  too  dear  for  me!" 

"Abey!"  was  uttered  in  a  voice  that  might 
almost  be  described  as  coaxing. 

"  '  Why  Live  when  you  can  be  Buried  for  Three 
Pounds  Ten  by  The  Eco-nom-ical  Funerals 
Company?'"  read  Absalom,  conscious  that  Susy 
had  entered,  shutting  the  door  firmly  behind  her. 
He  broke  into  a  clammy  perspiration  even  as  he 
wiped  his  clasp-knife  upon  his  paper  tablecloth, 
shut  the  knife,  swept  up  the  crumbs  of  the  meal 
into  his  palm  and  swallowed  them,  returned  the 
knife  to  his  trousers  pocket,  crumpled  the  greasy 
newspaper  into  a  ball,  pitched  it  under  the  grate, 
and  elaborately  became  aware  of  the  visitor  upwards 
from  her  thick-soled,  lace-up  boots  to  the  well- 
filled  black  stockings  that  merged  in  a  pink  print 
frock  covered  with  a  bibbed  apron.  Something  in 
the  rounding  contours  revealed  by  the  bib  weakened 
his  grim  determination,  the  little  hollow  in  the 
creamy -pink  throat  under  the  pointed  chin 
swallowed  up  the  last  of  his  strength.  He  un- 
hooked his  jacket  from  behind  the  door  and 
doggedly  thrust  one  arm  into  a  sleeve,  but  he  was 
failing,  and  he  knew  it,  as  Susy  demanded  : 

"  Abey,  you're  not  a-going  to  pretend  as  you 
doan't  know  whv  I  be  here?" 


172  THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP 

She  waited,  with  blazing  blue  eyes  nailed  upon 
Absalom's.  He  drove  the  other  arm  into  the 
jacket-sleeve  and  mumbled  shamefacedly  : 

"To  see  your  Aunt  Sarah  Gammon,  o'  course !" 

He  pulled  an  old-fashioned  copper  powder-horn 
from  his  jacket  pocket,  shook  it  at  his  ear  and 
thrust  it  back  again.  Then  he  picked  up  a  flag- 
basket  from  the  chimney  corner  and  topped  him- 
self with  a  well-nigh  crownless  straw  hat.  In  the 
act  of  taking  an  old  muzzle-loading  sporting  gun 
from  the  corner  where  it  leaned  beside  the  back 
door  he  stole  a  glance  at  Susy,  and  saw  her  apron 
at  her  eyes. 

"I  doan't  want  Aunt  Sarah,"  faltered  Miss 
Wilks.  Was  she  really  crying?  "  'Tis  you  I  be 
come  to  ask  a  question  of."  She  added,  as 
Absalom  removed  his  fingers  from  the  gun-barrel 
and  dropped  the  flag-basket  in  confusion  :  "  What 
I  wants  to  ask  ye  is — be  this  tale  true?" 

"  Wut  tale?"  mumbled  Absalom  guiltily  rolling 
his  eyes  about  the  kitchen.  They  lighted  with 
relief  on  the  tin  bottle  and  a  brown  teapot  that 
stood  upon  the  corner  of  the  stove.  "  Wut  tale?" 
He  began  to  refill  the  tin  bottle  from  the  teapot, 
adding,  as  a  brown  puddle  spreading  upon  the 
sanded  brick  floor  about  his  boots  testified  to  the 
unsteadiness  of  his  hands  :  "  'Ow  do  I  know  wut 
kind  o'  tale  you  means?"  In  his  desperation 
he  strode  to  Mrs.  Gammon's  corner-cupboard, 
wrenched  it  open,  and  with  the  boldness  of  despair 


THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP  173 

dropped  ten  or  twelve  lumps  of  sugar  into  the  tin 
bottle,  and  rilled  up  with  milk  set  by  for  the  widow's 
tea.  "Theer  be  tales  an'  tales— all  diffrent!"  he 
said  gloomily,  and  drove  the  bottle-stopper  home 
with  a  blow. 

"This  one,"  retorted  Miss  Wilks,  fixing  his 
whirling  eyes  with  her  own  relentless  orbs  as  she 
dropped  her  marketing-basket  on  the  brick  floor 
and  folded  her  arms  upon  her  heaving  apron-bib, 
"  I  have  just  heerd  at  Simmon's,  the  grocers,  when  I 
went  up-along  to  buy  mother  half  a  pound  o' 
Liphook's  Luscious  Tea."  She  continued  with 
compelling  energy:  "Answer  I  plainly,  Abey 
Penny.  Be  you  a-going  to  marry  my  Aunt  Sarah 
Gammon  or  baint  ye?"  She  unfolded  her  arms, 
clenched  a  pink  fist  and  thumped  it  smartly  on  the 
table.  "Answer  me — if  you  never  tells  the  truth 
no  more  ! ' ' 

"Susan  Wilks,  I  be!"  shouted  Absalom,  with 
unexpected  force  and  loudness.  The  sound  of  his 
own  voice  encouraged  him,  and  with  clenched  fist 
he  thumped  the  table  until  the  tin  bottle  fell  over 
on  its  side.  "Now  you  knows,  wut  ha'  you  got 
to  say  against  it?"  he  went  on  defiantly,  stowing 
the  bottle  in  the  flag-basket,  and  hitching  the  strap 
about  it. 

"Say  against  it!"  shrieked  Susy,  goaded  to 
frenzy  by  this  callousness,  "why,  that  Aunt  Sarah 
Gammon  be  over  sixty,  an'  'tis  child-stealin'  for 
her  to  marry  wi'  a  lad  as  young  as  you  !  A  birdin' 


174  THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP, 

boy,  at  nine  shillin'  to  week,  what  her  took  in  as 
parish  boarder  when  you  was  nine  year  old  !  Why, 
she  did  ought  to  think  shame  o'  herself,  an*  so 
ought  you,  Abey,  Absalom — so  ought  you  1" 

She  sank  into  the  slippery  embrace  of  an 
American  cloth-covered  armchair  and  burst  into 
loud  sobs,  as  Absalom  hardily  shouldered  the 
flag-basket  and  took  the  gun  from  the  dresser- 
nook. 

"Say  wut  you  likes,"  he  told  her,  hardily. 
"I've  got  no  time  for  argeyin'  wi'  little  gells." 

"An'  me  same  age  as  you,  ail-but  a  year!" 
screamed  Susy,  indignantly. 

"Look  now!"  said  Absalom,  patronizingly, 
"what  iggerance  you  be  showing!  Baint  I  your 
uncle — or  as  good?" 

"Not  you,  nor  nothing  like  it!"  returned  Miss 
Wilks,  stung  beyond  endurance.  "  My  uncle  were 
the  late  Mr.  Ezra  Wilks,  Aunt  Sarah's  first 
husband.  Why,  I  wouldn't  have  you  for  an  uncle, 
not  at  a  gift!" 

"  All  same,  I  shall  be  your  Aunt  Sarah's  third 
husband  an'  your  uncle  by  marriage  come  Wens- 
day  next,"  said  Absalom,  still  more  hardily.  In 
another  moment  a  lump  came  into  his  throat  and 
warm  salt  water  brimmed  over  his  eyelids.  He 
leaned  the  ancient  muzzle-loader  against  the  wall 
and  stealthily  wiped  away  the  betraying  tears  with 
the  back  of  his  hand.  Susy  was  crying  really  now, 
if  she  had  feigned  previously. 


THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP  175 

"Oh,  Abey !  Abey!"  she  sobbed,  "however 
could  you  go  to  do  it?" 

Absalom  Penny  stared  before  him,  blinking. 

"I  dunno,"  he  began,  and  pulled  up.  "Ay,  I 
do  know,"  he  began.  His  eyes  blinked  more 
rapidly,  and  his  mouth  worked.  "You  wouldn't 
'ev  me,  so  I  throwed  meself  away  !"  He  collapsed 
heavily  on  the  stool  and  dropped  his  head  on  the 
tabl^e  with  a  bang,  lifted  up  his  voice  and  wept. 
"  Ow,  ow  !  Hoo-owhoo  !"  he  blubbered.  "  You — 
you  wouldn't  'ev  me,  so  I've  throwed  meself 
away  ! ' ' 

"Don't  cry  so,  there's  a  dear!"  pleaded  Susy, 
dropping  on  her  knees  beside  the  artless  mourner. 
"You  'adn't  got  nothin'  to  marry  me  on  if  I'd  said 
I'd  take  ye,  had  ye  now?  An'  mother  be  under 
Aunt  Sarah  Gammon's  thumb,  an'  Aunt  wanted 
ye  for  herself,  seemin'ly.  Blow  your  poor  nose, 
Abey,  dear,  an'  tell  how  the  old  cat  got  over 
you?" 

But  the  voice  of  Absalom  Penny's  sorrow  could 
not  be  stilled  immediately.  It  may  be  mentioned 
that  from  the  moment  of  Susy's  entrance  certain 
protesting  creakings  and  groanings  of  the  garret 
floor-boards,  due  to  the  overhead  movements  of  a 
ponderous  unseen  body,  had  ceased,  as  though  the 
conversation  previously  recorded  had  possessed 
some  interest  for  the  ear  of  a  conjectural  personage 
above.  Succeeding  a  heavy  double  bump,  and 
a  faint  sort  of  shambling,  heavy  and  somewhat 


i;6  THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP 

asthmatic  breathing  could  now  be  heard  in  such 
relation  to  the  kitchen  ceiling  as  to  suggest  that 
Mrs.  Sarah  Gammon  was  listening  above. 


II. 

"You  wouldn't  'ev  me "  Absalom  was  be- 
ginning for  the  third  time,  when  Susy  literally 
stopped  his  mouth  with  a  loud  smacking  kiss. 

"I  will  'ev  ye!  There  now!"  she  uttered,  reso- 
lutely. 

"  An'  git  me  away  from  Missis  Gammon  !  So 
cruel  fond  of  I  as  her  be  !  You'll  niver  do  it — 
niver!"  said  Absalom,  wagging  his  dismal  head. 

"  However  did  she  win  ye  over?  Tell  your  own 
Susy!"  whispered  Miss  Wilks,  in  whose  bosom 
curiosity  strove  with  jealousy. 

"You'll  niver  be  my  Susy,  but  I'll  tull  ye.  It 
beginned,"  said  Absalom,  "wi'  my  legs  a-gettin' 
tew  long  for  th'  settle,  theer." 

"You  sleeps  on  settle?"  queried  Susy,  putting 
her  face  close  to  the  young  man's. 

"I  does  when  I  doan't  fall  off,"  said  Absalom. 
"An*  seein'  my  legs  kip  gettin'  longer  an'  longer, 
says  Missis  Gammon  to  I  o'  Sat-day  night  :  '  You 
be  growin'  quite  a  tall  young  man,  Absalom 
Penny,'  says  she.  'You'll  be  fain  to  take  an'  git 
wedded  one  o'  these  fine  days,'  she  says.  '  No-a, 
Missis  Gammon,'  I  says,  'I  shan't  niver  leave  ye 
to  git  wedded.'  '  Trewly  now,'  her  says  ; '  an'  bain't 
you  a  bit  sweet  on  some  young  woman  ?'  '  No-a, 


THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP  177 

Missis  Gammon,'  I  answers  back ;  '  Young  wimmen 
I  'ates  like  pisen,  an'  that's  the  mortal  trewth  ! 
Especially  the  slim-Jiggered,  red-'aired,  blue-eyed 
kind.'" 

"  Oh,  you  wicked  story  !"  exclaimed  Miss  Wilks, 
removing  her  head  from  the  shoulder  of  the 
narrator  to  shake  it  indignantly. 

"You'd  said  that  very  evenin',  back  o'  your 

feyther's  barn,  as  wut  you  wouldn't  'ev  me " 

Absalom  began. 

"I  knov.  Go  on,  there's  a  dear!"  begged  the 
remorseful  fair  one,  hastily  wiping  away  the  tears 
that  had  begun  to  trickle  down  the  young  man's 
countenance.  "Tell  us  what  Aunt  Sarah  said 
when  you  said — you  know  !" 

"  She  says  :  '  Well,  to  be  su-er  !  You  do  surprise 
me,  Absalom  Penny,  as  thowt  blue  'air  an'  red 
eyes — red  'air  an'  blue  eyes,  I  mean  ! — was  your 
weakness,  if  any.'  '  Noa,  Missis  Gammon,'  I 
says  to  her,  '  Young  wimmin  o'  the  red  and  blue 
and  pinky-white  kind  I  never  could  stomach  no 
more  than  pill-stick  and  blackjack,  an'  rather  than 
marry  one  of  they  wipers,  I'd  up  an'  take  an' 
marry — YOU  !'  " 

Miss  Wilks  removed  the  arm  that  had  become 
entangled  with  her  waist  in  the  course  of  the  narra- 
tion, and  sitting  back  upon  her  heels,  regarded 
Absalom  with  a  circular  stare,  as  he  continued  : 

"Says  Missis  Gammon,  a  smiling  all  over  her 
face,  like  :  '  So  that's  why  I  sawed  three  magpies 

12 


178  THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP 

yestiddy.  Well-a-well !  I  knowed  theer  sartinly 
'ud  be  a  weddin',  but  niver  did  I  dream  it  'ud  be 
mine.  An' '  she  says,  '  Me  bein'  an  independent 
widder  wi'out  incumbencies  an'  you  an  orphan  wi' 
no  relations,'  says  her,  'the  sooner  Vicar  ha' 
preached  us  two  into  one  flesh,  the  better. 
Banns,'  she  says,  'bein'  but  another  word 
for  bein'  made  game  of  by  a  pack  o'  gigglin' 
young  hussies  an'  grinnin'  young  foo-uls.'  An' 
so  she  tells  I  as  we're  to  be  wed  by  licence — 
an'  she  takes  me  Post  Office  Bank  book  out  o'  th' 
tea-caddy  an'  makes  me  draw  out  all  o'  me  one 
pound  fifteen  shillin'  wut  I've  saved  out  o'  me 
earnin's  to  buy  the  blistered  licence  wi' !" 

Susan  uttered  a  stifled  exclamation  and  sprang 
to  her  feet.  Standing  over  the  dismal  Absalom 
she  commanded,  loudly  : 

"Tell  her  you  won't  have  her,  licence  or  no 
licence." 

There  was  an  awful  pause,  only  filled  by  the  loud 
asthmatic  breathing  of  the  unseen  eavesdropper. 
Then  said  Absalom  weakly  : 

"  '  Tull  'er  I  wun't  'ave  'er  !'  .  .  .  But  she'll  be 
so  mad  as  niver  !  Why,  her  be  up-garret  to-now, 
shortenin'  Gammon's  Sunday  trowsies  fur  me  to 
wear  o'  Wen'sday,  when  we're  wed." 

"Drat  Uncle  Gammon's  Sunday  trowsies!" 
burst  out  Miss  Wilks,  indignantly.  "Thankful 
to  git  out  o'  wearin'  'em,  that's  what  you  ought 
to  be.  What  collar  is  that  you've  got  on  ?" 


THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP  179 

"It  be,"  replied  Absalom,  "one  o'  your  Uncle 
Wilks's  dickies." 

"I  thought  I  knowed  it,"  commented  the  late 
Mr.  Wilks's  niece.  "Be  it  comfortable?" 

"Noa!"  replied  Absalom. 

"Well,"  said  Susy,  with  bitter  emphasis,  "the 
collar  you're  going  to  stick  your  silly  head  into 
come  Wednesday '11  gall  ye  a  long  sight  more  than 
that."  She  tied  on  her  sun-bonnet  with  a  quiver- 
ing lip ;  picked  up  her  marketing-basket  and  went 
to  the  door.  "  Good-bye,  Abey  Penny,"  she  said, 
at  the  threshold;  "I'm  beginning  to  believe  there's 
another  reason  back  o'  this  than  my  having  said 
to  ye  I  wouldn't  'ev  ye  till  you'd  saved  summat 
tow'rds  'ousekeepin.'  Ah !  an'  pre'aps  two 
reasons,  an'  might  be  three  !" 

"  Wut  be  they  three  reasons,  seemin'ly?"  asked 
the  stupefied  Absalom. 

"This  cottage  an'  garden  freehold  for  one," 
screamed  Susan  shrilly  from  the  threshold. 
"  Rights  o'  grazin'  on  th'  common  for  a  cow,  makes 
two,  an'  a  hunnerd-an '-twenty  pound  in  the  County 
Bank,  three,  as  I'm  a  living  sinner!" 

"By  jings!"  shouted  Absalom  Penny,  his 
dolorously  drawn-down  mouth  widening  into  a  grin 
of  rapture,  "I  niver  thinked  a  thought  on  that. 
All  I'd  in  my  mortal  mind  were  th'  'owd  gun 
theer."  He  pointed  exultantly  to  the  ancient 
muzzle-loader  leaning  up  against  the  dresser,  and 
Susy  exclaimed  in  astonishment : 


i8o  THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP 

"  You  must  be  cracky.  Marry  Aunt  Sarah  Gam- 
mon for  the  sake  of  Muster  Gammon's  old  gun  1" 

" 'Ow  does  I  get  me  livin',  seemin'ly?"  asked 
Absalom. 

Susy  answered  coldly  : 

"Weedin'  wheat  and  swede  an'  taturs  an' 
gatherin'  twitch,  but  mostly  by  bird-scarin." 

"  Can  you  scare  birds  wi'out  a  gun  ?"  demanded 
Absalom,  eliciting  the  sulky  admission  : 

"Not  proper,  you  can't." 

"  Ah  !  An'  wheer  were  I  to  buy  another  gun 
supposin'  Missis  Gammon  had  got  mad  wi'  me  for 
up  an*  sayin'  as  I  didn't  want  to  marry  her?" 

"You  throwed  yourself  away  for  th'  gun  then," 
said  Susy  icily,  "and  not  along  o'  me.  Good  day, 
Master  Penny.  You  an'  me  ha'  done  wi'  one 
another !" 

"Indeed,  Miss  Wilks,  and  have  us?"  said 
Absalom,  in  a  mincing  tone,  screwing  up  his 
mouth.  Next  instant  the  sound  of  a  smart  slap 
reverberated  through  the  kitchen. 

Absalom  dived  in  the  direction  of  the  slapper, 
and  catching  her  as  she  jerked  up  the  door-latch, 
strove  to  exact  in  payment  for  the  stinging  patch 
above  his  jaw  the  saccharine  tribute  of  a  kiss. 

As  he  desisted  for  lack  of  breath — for  Susy 
resisted  vigorously — heavy  footsteps  overhead  made 
the  planks  of  the  ceiling  quake  upon  the  joists  that 
bore  them,  and  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Gammon  cried 
from  the  stair-top  : 


THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP  181 

"  Abey  Penny,  who  be  you  a  tellin'  wi'  down- 
along  in  theer?" 


III. 

Upon  the  face  of  Absalom,  now  bleached  with 
sickly  terror,  a  flaming  patch  bore  witness  to  the 
virgin  strength  of  Susan's  arm.  The  Adam's  apple 
in  his  long  throat  jerked  as  he  stammered  : 

"  Noabody,  Missis  Gammon,  but  Wigget  th* 
knife-grinder  as  looked  in  for  a  job." 

"  Tull  he  theer  be  nort  for  him  !"  said  the  voice 
from  the  stair-top;  "an'  fill  th'  tea-kittle!" 

"Ay,  Missis  Gammon,"  returned  her  miserable 
thrall. 

As  the  widow's  elephantine  footsteps  retreated 
from  the  stair-top,  and  Susan,  nodding,  made 
another  feint  of  departure,  Absalom  gasped,  with 
a  weak  clutch  at  the  hand  that  had  cuffed  him  : 

"  Wait  on  !    I  wants  to  speak  to  ye  !" 

"  I  can't,"  said  Miss  Wilks,  with  a  dreadful  air 
of  briskness,  "I  wants  to  fare  up-village  and  buy 
mother  her  pound  o'  tea.  Besides,  I  promised  Bill 
Hickson  I'd  walk  out  wi'  him  this  evenin,'  soon 
as  I'd  settled  it  to-rights  about  you  an'  Aunt  Susan, 
and  I've  a  new  'at  to  trim  by  then." 

"Don't  ye  'ave  nort  to  do  wi'  Bill  Hickson!" 
gasped  Absalom,  "don't — an'  I'll  do  it  as  suer  as 
death!" 

"You  mean  you'll  tell  Aunt  Sarah  you  bain't 


i82  THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP 

goin'  to  marry  her?"  demanded  Susy,  with 
promptitude. 

"  Ay  !"  said  Absalom,  fetching  a  deep  breath. 

"Then  I  won't  walk  out  along  wi'  Bill  Hickson 
this  evening,"  said  Susy,  permitting  her  deepest 
dimple  full  play. 

"  An'  you  will  'ev  me  ?"  stipulated  Absalom. 

"  I  will  when  you've  told  Aunt  Sarah  what  you're 
going  to,"  said  Susy  relentlessly.  "Git  on  an' 
tell  her  now  !  Shout  it  to  'er  up  th'  ladder.  Come 
on,  why  don't  you  begin?"  she  added,  scornfully, 
as  the  unhappy  Absalom  squared  his  narrow 
shoulders,  thrust  out  his  lower  jaw  and  struck  an 
attitude  of  determination,  belied  by  his  deadly 
pallor  and  the  knocking  of  his  knees.  "You're  a 
great  big  cow-erd,  that's  what  you  are  !" 

The  wretched  youth  strove  to  reply,  but  the  ceil- 
ing quaked  again,  and  his  feeble  utterance  was 
drowned  by  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Gammon. 

"  Abey  Penny,  Abey!"  she  cried,  "  baint  you 
iver  goin'  to  git  along  back  to  the  field?" 

"  E'es,  Missis  Gammon  !"  piped  Absalom,  in  the 
voice  of  a  six  year  old. 

"  Joe  Widgett !"  shouted  the  widow. 

"He  'ears  ye,  Missis  Gammon  !"  lied  Absalom. 

"Tull  Mm  to  drop  in  at  Thomas  Trudgett's," 
said  the  voice  of  Fate  from  the  ceiling,  "as  ye  go 
along-up  village,  an'  tull  Thomas  the  good  news 
about  you  and  me !  An*  bid  him  gie  Muster 
Trudgett  my  complemends,  as  I'll  be  main  pleased 


THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP  183 

if  he'll  drop  in  this  evenin'  an'  drink  a  cup  o' 
tea!" 

"I'll  tull  he,  Missis  Gammon,"  said  Absalom 
feebly. 

His  whirling  eyes  lighted  on  Susy,  who  seemed 
to  be  performing  a  kind  of  red  Indian  war-dance, 
clapping  her  hands  in  dumb  show  and  nodding 
violently.  The  thought  that  frustrated  passion 
might  have  unbalanced  the  seat  of  reason  had 
hardly  occurred  to  him  before  she  rushed  at  him 
and  put  her  mouth  to  his  ear. 

"  Abey,  you  silly  gaby,"  she  whispered  ex- 
citedly, "I've  found  out  Aunt  Sarah's  motor.  No, 
don't  gape  at  me.  I  don't  mean  the  kind  o'  motor 
that  makes  th'  dust  an'  kills  th'  dogs,  but  the  other 
sort  as  makes  people  do  queer  things.  An'  Thomas 
Trudgett  be  Aunt  Sarah's  motor  or  my  name's  not 
Susan  Wilks!" 

"Owd  Tom  Trudgett.  .  .  .  Why,  wut " 

Absalom  was  beginning,  when  the  slow  dawn  of 
an  idea  glimmered  behind  his  round  pale  eyes. 
"O'  course,"  he  said  slowly,  "all  th'  folk  in  Long 
Dittoes  do  know  as  Trudgett  ha'  courted  Missis 
Gammon  on  and  off,  by  an'  by  times,  fur  more 
than  thirty  year." 

"That's  it,"  panted  Susy;  "an'  so  mortal  slow 
were  Trudgett,  that  fust  Uncle  Ezra  Wilks  got  in 
an'  got  'er  after  courtin'  her  six  years,  and  then 
Muster  Gammon,  he  cut  in  an'  got  her  after  wait- 
ing on  'er  for  fifteen.  Gammon  he've  bin  dead 


184  THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP 

nine  years,  an'  Trudgett  be  no  forrader  than  he 
were  at  th'  beginning.  So  I  shouldn't  wonder  but 
you're  a-goin'  to  git  'er,  unless  Thomas  steps  in  !" 

"I  doan't  want  to  git  'er!"  said  Absalom  with 
rebellious  loudness. 

"You  will  if  you  don't  watch  out  sharp,"  said 
Susy,  at  the  front  door.  "Strike  a  blow  for 
freedom,  Abey,  an'  remember  to  strike  hard  !" 

She  really  went  away  this  time,  because  with 
attendant  groanings  and  crackings  of  the  staircase- 
ladder,  a  pair  of  stout  feet  clothed  in  extra-sized 
list  slippers,  and  furnished  with  ankles  resembling 
stockinged  sofa-bolsters,  had  appeared  upon  the 
upper  treads.  These  extremities  gradually  lowered 
the  bulky  person  of  the  widow  Gammon  into  view. 

You  beheld  the  widow  as  a  short,  bulky,  red- 
faced  woman  of  some  fifty-nine  summers,  with  little 
sharp  grey  eyes,  features  of  no  known  order  of 
architecture,  a  bay-coloured  front  of  hair  in  strik- 
ing contrast  with  the  back  part,  which  was  of  in- 
determinately greyish  hue,  and  enclosed  in  an  aged 
black  chenille  net,  not  innocent  of  grease.  She  was 
upholstered  rather  than  attired  in  a  black  and 
lavender  flowered  print  gown,  a  checked  apron  of 
voluminous  size  covered  a  white  one  invariably  ex- 
posed for  callers,  and  she  carried  under  her  left 
arm  a  pair  of  black  cloth  trousers  of  vast  dimensions 
and  old-fashioned  make,  and  in  her  right  hand  a 
formidable  pair  of  scissors. 

"  Were  that  Widgett  popped  out  front  door  as  I 


THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP  185 

corned  down-along?"  asked  the  widow  as  she 
landed  her  list  slippers  on  the  rag  mat. 

"O-ay,  Missis  Gammon,"  said  Absalom,  un- 
candidly.  The  widow  gave  him  a  sharp  glance, 
and  said,  looking  towards  the  window  : 

"  'E  must  find  a  cotton  sunbon.net  a  nice  protec- 
tion to  'is  'ead  this  warm  weather."  She  added, 
as  the  stricken  youth's  jaw  fell  at  this  potent  thrust : 
"You  sims  to  be  gittin'  nicely  over  your  'atred  for 
blue  eyes  an'  red  'air  !" 

"  O-ay,  Miss  Gammon! — I  means  no-a,  Missis 
Gammon  !"  babbled  the  stricken  young  man.  He 
covered  his  confusion  by  shouldering  the  flag- 
basket  and  taking  the  gun  from  the  dresser-corner. 
"  If  ye  please,  Missis  Gammon,  I  be  goin'  back  to 
th'  wheat-acres,"  he  mumbled,  with  averted 
eyes. 

"  Lucky  I  ain't  a  jellis  nater  like  pore  Wilks  and 
pore  Gammon,"  sighed  the  widow,  removing  a 
large  brass  pin  from  the  bodice  of  her  gown  and 
beckoning  the  reluctant  youth  to  approach.  "  Come 
here  and  let  me  pin  on  these  an'  take  your  measure 
before  you  goes,  Abey.  Turn  yer  back,  wull  ye ! 
Ah,  dear !  Too  long  by  a  foot  they  be,  and  that 
wide  'tis  wonderful,"  she  murmured,  holding  the 
garments  against  the  small  of  Absalom's  back  and 
estimating  with  a  discontented  eye  that  ample 
length  that  trailed  upon  the  floor.  "You'll  niver 
be  so  fine  a  man  as  were  Enery  Gammon,  Absalom 
Penny,  not  if  you  lives  to  a  'underd.  Well,  well  I 


i86  THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP 

I  'ope  I  shall  be  'appy  !"  said  Mrs.  Gammon,  and 
drove  in  the  brass  pin. 

"Owch!"  squeaked  the  sacrifice,  prancing  in 
torture. 

"  Wut  be  wrong  wi'  ye?"  said  the  widow  acri- 
moniously. "You  be  so  ock'erd  as  a  colt  in  a 
medder,  bye !" 

"  Plaize,  Missus  Gammon — owch  1 "  pleaded 

the  sufferer,  "  theer  be  summat  sharp  —  owch  — 
owch  !  runnin'  into  me  back — like  !" 

"  Drat  the  bye  !"  ejaculated  the  widow,  pettishly. 
"  Why  didn't  ye  up  an'  say  so  before?" 

"  Plaize,  Missis  Gammon "  began  Absalom 

earnestly. 

"  Owd  yer  tongue,  wull  ye  ! "  snapped  the  irascible 
Mrs.  Gammon.  "Noa,"  she  soliloquised  as  the 
elderly  will,  earnestly  considering  the  late  Mr. 
Gammon's  discarded  integuments,  "to  cut  'em  'ud 
be  a  sin  !  'Sides  noabody  do  know  when  a  bye 
like  you  '11  stop  growin'.  I'll  turn  they  trowsies 
up  from  the  bottoms  inside,"  she  added,  suiting 
the  action  to  the  word,  and  taking  more  brass 
skewers  from  the  front  of  her  bodice.  "I'll  pin 
'em  an'  tack  'em,  an'  if  you  feels  a  bit  too  over- 
dressed about  th'  feet  at  fust,  you'll  soon  git  used 
to  it.  Wun'tye,  bye?" 

"  Ay-a,  Missis  Gammon!"  acquiesced  Absalom 
hopelessly. 

"Ah  well!"  said  Mrs.  Gammon,  repeating  her 
former  aspiration,  "  I  'ope  I  shall  be  'appy  1"  She 


THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP  187 

drew  the  chintz-cushioned  Windsor  chair  towards 
the  window,  took  a  large  brass  thimble  and  a  reel 
of  strong  black  thread  from  her  pocket,  and  a  formid- 
able darning-needle  from  her  bodice-front,  seated 
herself  and  prepared  to  sew.  "  Git  along  to  your 
work,"  she  said,  as  she  bit  off  a  length  of  thread 
and  stabbed  it  at  the  needle;  "and  as  you  pass  by 
Thomas  Trudgett's  cottage,  gi'  him  Mrs.  Gammon's 
complemends  an'  say  I'll  take  it  as  but  neighbourly 
if  he'll  drop  in  an'  drink  a  cup  o'  tea.  For  I'll  lay 
that  pert  wench  Susy  'ud  niver  gi'  th'  messidge." 

"E're  be  Mister  Trudgett  comin'  now,"  said 
Absalom  staring.  He  held  the  unlatched  door  wide 
open  and  pointed  to  a  well-known  figure  in  the  act 
of  advancing  down  the  front  garden  path  between 
the  lavender  bushes,  gripping  in  one  gnarled  and 
brown  right  fist  a  knobby  blackthorn  stick  of 
formidable  dimensions,  and  dragging  with  the  other 
hand  a  red-faced  and  unwilling  captive.  .  .  . 

"Wut  be  Thomas  bringin'  that  wench  Susy 
Wilks  in  along-o'  he  fur?"  inquired  Mrs.  Gammon 
acidly,  as  she  slipped  off  her  checked  stuff  apron 
and  revealed  the  white  one  sacred  to  company. 
She  added,  with  a  coquettish  glance  at  the  matronly 
reflection  presented  in  the  shiny  surface  of  a  copper 
warming-pan  :  "  Be  my  'air  pretty  tidy,  seemin'ly, 
Absalom?" 

"Ay  !  Missis  Gammon,  "said  Absalom,  atthedoor. 

"  'Ev  ye  eyes  i'  your  back  then,  gaby?"  snapped 
the  widow. 


1 88  THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP 

"Ay,  Missis  Gammon!"  faltered  Absalom,  re- 
tiring behind  the  door  in  an  agony  of  appre- 
hension as  Thomas  Trudgett  rapped  upon  it 
with  his  stick,  thrust  it  strongly  back  against 
the  wall,  and  exclaimed  in  a  loud,  gruff,  hearty 
voice,  familiar  to  the  echoes  of  Mrs.  Gammon's 
dwelling  : 

"  Be  ye  to-home-along,  Sarah  Gammon,  I  say?" 


IV. 

The  ancient  wooer  of  Mrs.  Gammon  had  been 
gardener  to  the  late  squire  of  Long  Dittoes,  and 
though  now  retired  upon  savings,  augmented  by 
the  Old  Age  Pension,  was  still  in  request  as  a 
jobbing  man.  You  saw  him  as  a  lean,  hale, 
Roman -nosed,  weather-beaten  septuagenarian, 
standing  about  six  feet  in  his  old-fashioned  country 
highlows.  Bushy  grey-black  side-tufts  of  coarse 
hair  peeped  from  under  a  prehistoric  white  felt 
stove-pipe.  His  narrow  twinkling  eyes,  shaded  by 
bushy  black  and  white  eyebrows,  were  set  in  a 
walnut-brown  mask  of  wrinkles;  he  wore  a  spade- 
shaped  beard  beneath  the  chin,  and  a  coarse  red 
and  white  cotton  neckerchief  twisted  in  a  strangle- 
knot  round  the  collarless  band  of  a  shirt  of  blue 
ticking.  His  nether  limbs  were  clothed  in  proof 
armour  of  corduroy,  his  waistcoat  was  of  the  same 
indestructible  material ;  his  double-breasted  blue 


THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP  189 

cloth  coat  possessed  a  full  set  of  polished  brass 
buttons,  and  in  an  earth-brown  right  hand  he 
grasped  the  knobbed  blackthorn  previously  referred 
to.  The  other  hand  still  towed  behind  him  the 
flushed  and  unwilling  Susan  Wilks. 

"Come  in,  come  in,  Muster  Trudgett,"  said 
Mrs.  Gammon  hospitably.  "  You're  main  early  for 
tea-time,  but  kindly  welcome  all  same.  Sit  ye 
down,  do!"  She  relinquished  the  Windsor  chair 
in  favour  of  her  visitor,  and  added,  wakening  the 
sulky  fire  with  an  attenuated  kitchen  poker:  "So 
you've  heerd  th'  news,  seemin'ly?" 

"Up  to  tap  o'  th'  Pure  Drop,"  said  Trudgett, 
pulling  Susy  forward,  "where  I  looks  in  for  th' 
pint  o'  four-arf  as  I  'as  arter  dinner.  Comin'  out 
I  meets  wi'  the  blooshin'  bride-to-be.  Wheer  be 
Absalom  !  Her  towd  I  Abey  were  heer-along." 
His  small  twinkling  eye  lighted  upon  the  shrink- 
ing form  of  Absalom.  "Why,  theer  he  be," 
bellowed  the  jovial  visitor,  "  hidin'  behind  th'  door, 
seemin'ly.  Come  out,  sonny,  come  out !  I  wants 
to  wish  ye  joy  like.  She's  young  an'  so  are  you. 
All  th'  more  time  fur  courtin'.  Buss  her,  Abey 
lad,  buss  your  bloomin'  bride-illect,  or  you'll  force 
me  to  do  it  for  ye  !" 

"I've  tulled  ye,  Muster  Trudgett,  I  bain't  no 
bloomin'  bride-elect !  I  wouldn't  'ave  Abe  Penny, 
not  if  'e  was  'ung  with  dimonds  !"  protested  Susy, 
scarlet  to  the  roots  of  her  hair. 

"That's  what  all   the  wenches   do   say,"   said 


THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP 

Trudgett  cheerfully,  taking  off  the  tall  white  hat 
and  producing  from  it  a  red-spotted  handkerchief, 
"  Buss  'er,  Abey  I  Dod  gass  it,  bye,  why  d'ye 
hang  back?" 

"As  I  doan't  want  to  buss  'er,  please  Muster 
Trudgett,"  faltered  the  unhappy  Absalom,  acutely 
conscious  of  the  widow's  eye. 

"  An'  a  good  job  you  don't,"  said  Mrs.  Gammon, 
transferring  her  reproachful  gaze  to  Thomas 
Trudgett,  who  was  polishing  his  head  and  mopping 
his  face  and  wiping  his  neck  with  the  red-spotted 
handkerchief,  to  an  accompaniment  of  such  noises 
as  are  associated  with  the  toilet  of  a  horse.  "You 
as  be  to  stand  up  wi'  I  afore  Vicar  come  nex' 
Wen'sday,  an'  swear  to  love  an  cherish  till  death 
do  us  part." 

"Phew! — Dod  gass  it! — what  be  ye  talkin' 
'bout?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Trudgett,  dropping  the  red 
pocket-handkerchief  into  the  depths  of  his  tall  hat, 
and  elaborately  rounding  his  principal  features  into 
an  expression  of  stupefied  surprise. 

"  Wut  I've  told  ye  all  along,  you  stoopid  old 
hammer-'ead  !"  burst  out  Miss  Wilks,  in  shrill  pro- 
testing tones.  "  'Tis  Aunt  Sarah  Gammon  Absalom 
Penny  be  goin'  to  marry,  an'  I  wishes  'er  joy  o' 
the  gaby,  that  I  dew." 

"As  I'll  thank  you  not  to  becall  your  Uncle 
Penny,"  said  the  widow,  trembling  with  indigna- 
tion. 

"I  don't  want  no  sick  scarecrow  for  an  uncle," 


THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP  191 

retorted  Susy,  whose  cup,  long  full,  had  now  run 
over;  "nor  no  more  would  you  for  a  'usband  if 
there  was  a  man  to  be  'ad  !" 

"The  ockard  young  vixen!"  gasped  the  irate 
Mrs.  Gammon,  as  the  door  slammed  behind  her 
niece's  retreating  skirts.  "Well,  Thomas,  you 
knows  th'  truth  now,  an'  I'm  sure  I  'ope  I  shall  be 
'appy  !"  She  continued,  as  the  kettle  she  had  set 
upon  the  range  began  to  simmer:  "  Abey  Penny, 
you  git  along  to  field,  as  ain't  wanted  'ere." 

"  A-ay,  Missis  Gammon!"  said  the  miserable 
slave,  picking  up  for  the  fourth  time  his  bag,  and 
taking  the  late  Mr.  Gammon's  old  muzzle-loader 
from  behind  the  door. 

"Now  no  stoppin'  to  play  marbles,  or  spendin' 
money  on  Mother  Smiley 's  brandy-balls,"  snapped 
the  widow. 

"  I  can't,"  retorted  Absalom,  turning,  as  even 
the  trodden-on  worm  is  said  to  do,  "you  takes  all 
o'  my  wage  for  lodgin*  an'  victuals  !" 

"An'  thank  your  stars  I  does,"  said  Mrs. 
Gammon  sternly.  "  Who'd  wash  and  cook  fur  ye 
if  'twarn't  I?" 

"  Dunno,  Missis  Gammon  !"  mumbled  Absalom, 
retreating. 

"Hoy!"  cried  Thomas  Trudgett,  as  the  back 
view  of  his  fortunate  rival  presented  itself  to  his 
view.  "  Dod  gass  it!  wut's  the  bye  dranglin' 
be'ind?" 

"You,   Penny!     Stop!"  cried  Mrs.  Gammon, 


i92  THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP 

pursuing  her  retreating  victim  into  the  garden. 
"You  be  carryin'  off  Gammon's  Sunday  trowsies  1 
My  'eart  alive!"  she  panted,  arresting  the  hope- 
less footsteps  of  Absalom  and  retrieving  the 
garments,  "bye,  you  be  little  bettter  nor  a 
foo-ul!" 

"  Sin'  you  fare  to  think  so,  Missis  Gammon " 

began  Absalom,  with  a  desperate  effort,  "  may- 
be  "  Meeting  the  widow's  steady  stare  his  liver 

turned  to  water.  His  Adam's  apple  jerked,  and  his 
pale  eyes  bolted  from  their  sockets.  He  gulped 
and  said  no  more. 

"Maybe  wut?"  asked  Mrs.  Gammon  icily. 

"Seemin'ly,  Missis  Gammon "  gasped  the 

quailing  Absalom. 

"Seemin'ly  wut?"  demanded  the  widow. 

"  Nort,  Misses  Gammon!"  said  Absalom  hope- 
lessly, and  slouched  down  the  garden-path  and  out 
at  the  gate.  His  betrothed  looked  after  him  with 
an  enigmatical  expression,  sniffed  and  returned  to 
the  house. 

"You  was  always  such  a  man  for  your  tea  as 
niver,"  she  observed  smilingly  to  her  guest  as  she 
entered.  "  I'll  fare  to  lay  the  cups  to-once,  seein' 
kittle's  on  th'  bile." 

She  moved  about,  briskly  enough,  considering 
her  years  and  proportions,  spreading  a  coarse  white 
cloth  on  the  company  end  of  the  red-legged  deal 
table,  setting  out  two  blue  breakfast  cups,  a  home- 
made loaf  of  pale  greenish  hue  and  astonishing 


THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP  193 

weight,  a  pat  of  fresh  butter  and  a  glass  pot  of 
gooseberry  jam.  Thus  she  moved,  and  the  twink- 
ling eyes  of  Thomas  Trudgett  followed  her,  as  he 
sat  well  forward  in  the  Windsor  chair,  with  his 
earth-brown  hands  upon  his  knees.  As  she  ladled 
the  tea  into  the  carefully-warmed  pot  he  sighed 
like  the  exhaust-valve  of  a  road-engine.  Thump- 
ing a  fist  upon  the  table  until  the  cups  clattered  in 
their  saucers,  the  gardener  exclaimed  : 

"  Dod  gass  it,  Sarah  I  You  be  lost  to  me 
again  !" 

"  Ah  !"  said  Mrs.  Gammon  looking  into  the  tea- 
pot, perhaps  in  search  of  the  years  that  had  fled. 
"An*  whose  fault  be  that,  Thomas?" 

"Lost  to  me!"  continued  the  gardener,  as  one 
absorbed  in  retrospection.  "  For  the  third  time  i' 
thirty  years  !" 

"  Ah  !"  said  Mrs.  Gammon  again,  going  to  take 
up  the  kettle.  "  Drat  it !"  she  cried,  "  all  th'  water 
be  biled  away  I  That  gaby  Abe  niver  filled  it  arter 
all  my  tellin'.  Well,  well,"  she  continued,  with  a 
leniency  due  to  the  presence  of  a  rival,  "byes  will 
be  byes,  as  the  say  in'  is." 

"An'  gells  will  be  gells,  an*  wimmin  wimmin," 
interpolated  the  gardener  reproachfully.  He  added 
with  an  unsubdued  twinkle,  and  a  clearing  of  the 
throat  that  began  as  a  chuckle:  "Just  as  I  were 
a-comin'  your  way-along,  slow  but  su-er,  as  my 
manner  be." 

"So   you   say,"    retorted   the  widow,    bridling, 

13 


194  THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP 

"but,"  she  added,  filling  the  kettle  from  a  bucket 
with  a  dipper,  "yours  be  a  slug's  courtship, 
Thomas  Trudgett,  an'  'ev  bin  from  the  fust." 

"Slow  but  su-er!"  repeated  Trudgett  cheerily, 
as  Mrs.  Gammon  replaced  the  refilled  kettle  on  the 
fire,  and,  pending  the  water's  boiling,  sat  down  in 
the  other  Windsor  chair,  and  began  to  tack  up  the 
turning  at  the  bottom  of  a  trouser-leg.  "  Slow  but 
su-er!"  the  gardener  continued;  "an'  I  be  wuth 
waitin'  for,  I  mid  tell  ye.  A  fine,  bold,  'earty  man 
o'  my  years.  Eh,  woman,  eh?" 

He  broadened  his  chest,  squaring  his  elbows,  and 
the  widow  sighed  as  she  regarded  him. 

"  I  doan't  go  for  to  deny  it,  Thomas.  Well, 
well,  I  'ope  I  shall  be  'appy  !"  she  said,  dolorously. 

"An'  so  do  I  'ope  it,  Sarah,"  said  the  gardener, 
largely,  "  though  to  be  plain  wi'  ye,  if  I  drawed  my 
last  breath  this  minute,  you've  gaped  at  the  camel 
an'  swallowed  the  gnat." 

"  Meanin'  Abe  Penny,"  said  Mrs.  Gammon, 
back-stitching.  "Ye  do  see,  Thomas,  as  Abey  be 
a  single  orphan,  wi'  nobbody  to  fend  for  he,  an' 
I  be  sim'larly  a  double  widder  wi'out  a  man  to 
carry  coal,  or  dig  in  gardin'  or  clean  pigstye — an' 
so  it  come  about." 

"Talkin'  o'  pigstyes,"  said  Trudgett,  with 
interest,  "how  be  your  pig?" 

"Never  better  i'  his  life,"  said  Mrs.  Gammon, 
clinging  to  the  thread  of  her  discourse,  "  as  true  as 
I  be  sittin'  here,  shortenin'  Gammon's  Sunday 


THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP  195 

trowsies  for  Absalom  to  marry  me  in  come  Wen's- 
day.  It'll  be  a  quiet  weddin',  Thomas,  by  licends, 
as  ye've  heerd,  an'  when  Vicar  hev'  preached  our 
two  fleshes  into  one,  us'll  walk  to  th'  churchyard 
an'  look  at  th'  'lotment  wheer  pore  Wilks  an'  pore 
Gammon  be  a-lyin'  side  by  side  wi'  my  little  bit 
between  'em."  The  pathos  of  this  causing  the 
widow's  tears  to  flow,  she  murmured,  wiping  her 
eyes  with  Gammon's  discarded  integuments  :  "  For 
Absalom  woan't  'ev  me  always,  Thomas,  it  bain't 
i'  human  nater  !  I've  promised  him,  if  he's  a  good 
lad,  as  'e  shall  lay  acrost  our  feet !" 

"Come,  come!"  said  the  gardener,  encourag- 
ingly. 

"Well,  I  'ope  I  shall  be  'appy,"  continued  Mrs. 
Gammon,  unbosoming  herself  at  the  touch  of 
sympathy.  "  But  theer's  a  cloud  to  every  silver 
linin'  an*  that  theer  Absalom's  appytite  be  mine. 
'E  throws  'isself  on  a  slack-baked  quartern  like  a 
hogrey.  An'  as  for  cold  bacon " 

"Talkin'  'bout  bacon  minds  me,  Sarah " 

began  the  gardener. 

"But  if  'e  thinks,"  said  Mrs.  Gammon,  "to  git 
luckshuries  wi'  me  'e'll  find  'isself  mistaken. 
Dumplin'  afore  meat,  is  wut  my  'usbands  'ev  allus 
'ad,  an'  margarine  'thowt  butter,  or  lard.  It  stands 
to  reason " 

"Hem  hem!"  coughed  Trudgett,  shuffling  his 
highlows  noisily  upon  the  sanded  brick  floor  and 
getting  up;  "touchin'  on  lard  putts  pig  i'  my 


ig6  THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP 

'ead.  Till  kittle  biles  up  I'll  fare  to  'ev  a  look 
at  'e." 

"If  you  dew,"  said  Mrs.  Gammon,  dropping 
the  late  Mr.  Gammon's  trousers,  and  rising  in 
majesty,  "it'll  be  over  my  dead  corpse!" 

"  Dod  gass  it,  woman  !  wut  be  wrong  wi'  ye?" 
exclaimed  the  backward  wooer  in  elaborately- 
feigned  astonishment. 

* '  You  be  wrong  wi'  me,  Thomas, ' '  said  the  widow, 
shaking  her  head  at  him.  "  'Ev'nt  pigs  come  be- 
twixt you  an'  me,  ah  !  an'  from  the  werry  fust?" 

"  Pigs  be  my  fancy,"  said  the  gardener 
stubbornly,  "an'  that  I  don't  deny!" 

"An*  well  I  knows  it  to  my  cost!"  said  the 
widow,  reproachfully.  "  Poor  Wilks  tokened  me 
more  than  thirty  year  ago,  while  you  an*  pore 
feyther  was  argey-bargeyin'  over  a  litter  o'  suckin'- 
pigs.  An'  fifteen  year  later,  pore  Gammon  'e 
stepped  into  pore  Wilks's  shoes  while  you  was 
settin'  up  o'  nights  wi'  your  gre-at  black  sow." 
Tears  began  to  run  down  Mrs.  Gammon's  large 
countenance.  "An"  now,  nine  year  from,"  she 
wailed,  "another  pig  steps  in  an  parts  us.  O, 
dear  !  it  be  enough  to  break  a  body's  'art,  it  be  I" 

"Tsch,  tsch  !  Come  now,"  said  the  gardener 
soothingly,  "ye  doan't  mean  to  up  an'  call 
Absalom  Penny  a  pig?" 

"  Noa !"  sobbed  the  widow,  "but  I  could  find  it 
in  my  'eart  to  call  summun  else  one  !" 

"Meanin'   me?"   suggested  Trudgett,   drawing 


THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP  197 

nearer  to  the  agitated  widow,  and  winking  in  his 
characteristic  manner  as  he  patted  her  on  the  back. 
"Come,  come,  Sarah,"  he  urged,  "you  knows  if 
I  6e  a  slow  man  I  be  a  su-er  man,  and  I've  allus 
meant  to  wed  ye  one  o'  these  fine  days." 

"Then  tek  Wen'sday,"  said  the  widow  plumply, 
"whether  'tis  fine  or  whether  it  bain't." 

"  Dod  gass  it,  Sarah  !"  growled  Trudgett,  "what 
a  mortal  hurry  you're  in.  Can  I  snitch  ye  out  o' 
Abey  Penny's  jawses,  at  th'  last  minute,  seemin'ly  ? 
Why,  wut  'ud  Vicar  say  to  that?" 

"  I'll  tull  ye  wut  'e  did  say,"  said  Mrs.  Gammon, 
visibly  brightening,  "when  I  tooked  Absalom  an' 
the  licends  an'  showed  en  to  he.  'Ye  be  aweer 
Missis  Gammon,'  says  Vicar,  'as  this  be  a 
pecooliar  bis'ness.  The  male  contrackin'  party  be 
a  legal  hinfant  an'  the  female  contrackin'  party  be 
over  middle  age.  Wut  do  th'  bye's  parints  an' 
garjins  say  to  sich  a  onion?'  Then  I  ups  and 
minds  him  as  Absalom  Penny  hev'nt  got  no 
parents  an'  I  be  th'  only  garjin'  'e  ever  'ad,  'cept 
th'  Parish.  '  An '  wut  'ave  ye  to  say  to  this,  my 
lad?'  asts  Vicar  o'  Absalom,  an'  Absalom  'e  drops 
'is  jaw  an'  gapps  at  Vicar  wi'  his  mouth  wide  open. 
'  'E  niver  were  one  to  say  much,'  says  I  to  Vicar, 
'  'tis  a  owd  'ead  on  young  shoulders.'  Says  Vicar  : 
'  An*  as  though  one  owd  'ead  on  young  shoulders 
wasn't  enough,  Misses  Gammon,  you  be  a-goin'  to 
putt  another  owd  'ead  theerl'  Now  wut  did  th' 
man  mean  ?" 


i98  THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP 

The  eyes  of  Trudgett  twinkled  more  and  more, 
and  a  mirthful  convulsion,  beginning  at  his  legs, 
agitated  his  vast  waistcoat  and  the  ends  of  his 
neckerchief  before  a  tremendous  "Haw,  haw, 
HAW  1"  escaped  his  grinning  mouth.  "  Dod  gass 
it!"  he  roared,  slapping  his  thigh  with  a  report 
that  rivalled  the  detonation  of  a  fog-signal,  "  'Twere 
your  owd  'ead  as  Vicar  meaned  .  .  .  haw,  haw  1 
Well,  I  never!" 

"Thomas  Trudgett,"  said  the  widow  icily,  "  you 
best  go  an'  see  th*  pig.  His  be  the  com'ny  ye  be 
best  fitted  for!" 

"Maybe,  maybe,"  said  the  gardener  getting  up, 
"  but  I've  known  ye  think  different.  Why  what 
an  ock'ard  woman  you  be.  Wut  be  matter?" 

"The  matter  be,"  confessed  the  widow,  "that 
the  names  i'  th'  licends  bain't  filled  in  on  'count  o' 
Vicar's  scruples.  '  Take  three  days  to  consider  on 
it,'  says  he,  'Missis  Gammon,'  he  says,  'an'  bring 
the  bye  up  to  Vicarage  arter  tea  o'  Monday.  Or 
maybe,  Missis  Gammon,'  says  'e,  'a  more  suitable- 
aged  partner.  Anyhow,'  he  do  say,  '  us'll  leave  it 
till  then.'  An'  by  th'  look  in  his  holy  eye,  too 
reverend  to  be  a  wink,  yet  not  far  off  of  it,  I  seed 
as  plain  as  plain  could  be,  as  Vicar  were  thinkin* 
o*  you." 

"Nort  *e!"  said  Thomas  Trudgett,  reaching  his 
tall  stove-pipe  hat  from  the  top  of  the  chest  of 
drawers,  and  taking  his  blackthorn  from  the 
chimney-side.  "  Nort  a  bit  of  it !  Take  my  advice, 


THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP  199 

Sarah,  as  is  friendly  given,  an'  lay  on  the  bed 
you've  made  for  the  third  time.  Marryin'  be  a 
sollim  thing." 

"And  buryin*  be  a  sollimer,"  retorted  Mrs. 
Gammon.  "  You'll  be  berried  afore  you're  married, 
an'  so  I  tull  ye  plain." 

"Nort  a  bit,  nort  a  bit,"  opposed  the  gardener 
cheerfully.  "I  be  a  slow  man  an'  a  su-er  man, 
an'  though  I  wouldn'  wish  no  ill  to  that  pore  pup 
Abey  Penny,  in  twenty  year  or  so,  if  you've  luck, 
you  may  git  I  for  your  fourth."  He  added,  as 
simultaneously  with  the  boiling  of  the  kettle  the 
loud  and  angry  grunting  of  a  pig  made  itself  heard 
from  the  rear  of  the  premises:  "Your  pig  be  a 
bit  shurT,  seemin'ly.  'As  'e  'ad  'is  swill  ?  Noa,  for 
theer's  his  bucket  standin'  nigh  th'  back  door.  I'll 
feed  he  while  you  wets  th'  tea,  an'  be  back  by  time 
'tis  drawed." 

He  caught  up  the  bucket  and  vanished  through 
the  back  door.  More  grunting  was  succeeded  by 
a  squeal  or  two,  then  came  silence. 

Mrs.  Gammon  took  the  brown  teapot  from  the 
range,  and  emptied  the  tea-leaves  it  had  contained 
into  the  ashes.  As  she  put  in  fresh  tea  from  the 
brown  canister,  somebody  thumped  heavily  on  the 
front  door. 


200  THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP 

V. 

"My  'eart  alive,  girl!"  cried  Mrs.  Gammon, 
dropping  the  teapot-lid  into  the  steaming  pot  as 
Susy  Wilks  re-entered  without  ceremony.  "Wut 
have  ye  come  for,  scarin'  I  to  death  ?" 

*'  I've  come  to  ask  ye  a  plain  question,"  said  Miss 
Wilks,  firmly  placing  upon  the  table  the  market- 
basket  she  carried.  "Answer  as  if  you  was  lyin* 
an  your  dyin'  bed.  Which  o'  they  two  do  ye  favour 
to  marry?" 

"Trudgett  o'  course,  if  I  could  git  he,"  replied 
Mrs.  Gammon  shortly,  setting  the  tea  on  the  range 
to  draw. 

"An*  'spose  I  'elped  you  for  to  get  him,"  asked 
Susy,  "what  would  you  give  I?" 

" 'Pends  wut  you  wanted,"  returned  her  aunt. 
"  Wut  do  ye  want  ?" 

"  Absalom  Penny  !"  stated  Susy  promptly. 

"I  wunner  at  your  taste,  I  do,"  said  Mrs. 
Gammon,  slicing  bread  from  the  household 
boulder. 

"You  was  willin'  to  take  Abey  yourself,  I 
reckons,"  said  the  niece,  with  acrimony. 

"Maybe  so  an'  maybe  not,"  replied  her  aunt, 
with  unexpected  placidity. 

"But  s'pose  Abey  didn't  want  to  take  you?" 
suggested  Susan. 

"  'E'd  'ev  to,"  said  Mrs.  Gammon,  with  brevity, 
"  whether  he  wanted  or  didn't." 


2OI 

"Woan't  you  be  jellis  of  a  husband  so  young- 
like?"  queried  Susan  eagerly. 

"Jellis  of  a  bye  what  I've  cuffed  th'  'ead  of  sin' 
*e  were  nine  year  old  !  Nort  likely.  An'  what  I 
clings  to  is  the  knowin'  as  Absalom  woan't  be 
jellis  o'  me.  He  be  too  young,  an'  soft,  an' 
back'ard.  Now  pore  Wilks  he  wouldn't  ha*  let 
me  look  at  th'  moon  if  he  could  ha'  helped  it, 
because  folk  tell  theer  be  a  man  in  it,  an*  pore 
Wilks  were  nort  to  pore  Gammon.  As  for  ragin', 
ravin',  tomcat  jellisy,  that  theer  man  were  a  fair 
masterpiece.  Fill  the  sugar-bowl  from  th'  cup- 
board canister  while  I  go  call  Muster  Trudgett." 
She  hurried  to  the  rearward  door,  opened  it  and 
called  her  niece  to  her  side  to  witness  the  spectacle 
of  the  pig-lover  hanging  over  the  side  of  the  pig- 
stye,  rapturously  contemplating  its  porcine  occupant 
as  he  noisily  sucked  down  his  swill.  "Thomas  !" 
she  called,  and  receiving  no  answer  :  "  Drabbit  the 
man,"  she  snorted  angrily,  "I'll  'ev  to  go  an  shake 
he,  theer's  no  'elp  else." 

Susan  set  back  the  tea,  now  in  process  of  being 
overdrawn,  and  helped  a  struggling  fly  out  of  the 
milk.  "Why  can't  I  get  Abey  out  o'  his  muddle 
as  easy?"  she  muttered,  contemplating  the  rescued 
insect.  "  Better  be  dead  than  mis-rable  I  reckons," 
she  added,  unreflectingly  inverting  the  metaphor, 
and  promptly  decapitated  the  sufferer  with  the 
handle  of  a  spoon,  as  the  lank-haired  head  of 
Absalom  Penny,  in  a  nimbus  of  ragged-brimmed 


202  THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP 

straw  hat  and  a  garotting  collar,  rose  over  the 
hedge  of  flourishing  geraniums  and  calceolarias 
that  excluded  light  and  air  from  the  dwelling-room. 
He  whistled  cautiously,  and  Susan  jumped,  saying, 
as  she  caught  her  breath  : 

"  O,  Abey  !  what  a  start  you  did  give  me  !" 

"  Wut  say?  'ev'nt  ye  had  noa  luck?"  asked 
Absalom. 

"  Noa  !"  said  Susan,  "you'll  'ev  to  stand  up  wi' 
she  before  Vicar  o'  Wednesday  unless  you  can  do 
one  thing." 

"  Wait  on.  I  be  a  comin'  in."  Absalom's  head 
disappeared  from  the  window  to  reappear  crown- 
ing the  entire  personality  of  the  hero  of  this  rustic 
love-drama.  "Now  wut  be  I  to  dew  to  git  out  o' 
marryin'  Missis  Gammon?"  he  demanded,  putting 
down  his  flag-basket  and  the  gun,  and  presenting  to 
the  observation  of  Miss  Wilks  an  aspect  of  deter- 
mination hitherto  foreign  to  him.  "  Quick,  say  now, 
while  I  feels  the  power  of  it.  Fur  I've  found  a 
threepence  goin'  up  village,  an'  dang  me  if  I  'ev'nt 
spended  every  martel  penny  o't  in  Mother  Smiley's 
strongest  brandy-balls  an'  sucked  'em  all  up. 
Leastways,  all  but  four."  He  exhibited  the 
delicacies. 

"  I  be  ashamed  of  ye,"  said  Susan,  secretly  admir- 
ing the  prodigal ;  "  but  do  you  reckon  you  could  be 
jealous  of  Aunt  Sarah?" 

"Jellis  o'  Mother  Gammon?"  asked  Absalom, 
grinning.  "  Love-jellis,  d'ye  mean  ?" 


THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP  203 

"  I  mean  that  jealous  as  you  couldn't  abide  her 
to  look  at  the  moon,"  said  Susy,  "because  folks 
say  there's  a  man  in  it.  Regular  raging  tomcat 
jealous.  I  believe  if  you  could  pretend  to  be,  an* 
do  it  life-like,  Aunt  Sarah  wouldn't  have  you  arter 
all." 

"It  be  worth  tryin',"  pondered  Absalom;  "but 
how  be  I  to  begin  ?" 

It  was  now  Susy's  turn  to  ponder. 
"  If  you  could  manage,"  she  said,  presently,  "  to 
look  like  the  gentleman  in  last  week's  number  o' 
the  Penny  Romancer  I've  got  here."     She  con- 
tinued, taking  a  much-thumbed  novelette  from  her 
pocket  and  unfolding  it :  "  He's  a  nobleman  born, 
wi*  a  coronet  an'  a  castle,  an'  a  lady-love,  an'  a 
wicked  rival  what  steals  Lady  Imogene's  'eart  away. 
See  'im  threatenin'  to  shoot  'is  rival  wi'  a  pistol 
in  th'   picter  on  the  cover.     Look!"  she  added, 
prodding  at  the  page  with  a  pink  finger.     "That 
be  the  Countess  Ermyntrude,  the  other  young  lady 
what  loves  him  trewly,  beggin'  him  on  'er  bended 
knees  to  yield  Lady  Imogene  to  'is  rival,  for  her 
sake." 

"Could  ye  carry  on  like  'er,  d'ye  think?" 
suggested  Absalom. 

"I  lay  I  could,"  said  Susy.  "Here  be  Aunt 
Sarah  an'  Trudgett  as  smilin'  as  two  baked  apples. 
Come  along  o'  me  !" 

"  Wut  for?"  began  Absalom. 

"I'll  show  you  wut  for,"  whispered  Susy,  seiz- 


204  THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP 

ing  him  by  the  jacket  and  dragging  him  unresist- 
ing, towards  the  front  door.  The  kitchen  of  the 
cottage  was  empty  when  its  mistress  and  her  ancient 
suitor  returned,  and  sat  down  to  tea. 

*'  You'll  take  a  drop  o'  rum  i'  your  cup,  I  know," 
said  Mrs.  Gammon  at  a  later  stage  of  the  banquet, 
reaching  a  green  bottle  from  the  corner-cupboard 
and  fortifying  Trudgett's  tea.  "  An*  another  lump 
o'  sugar?"  she  added,  tenderly. 

"Smile  on  it,  Sarah,"  said  the  gardener,  "an* 
one  '11  be  enough." 

"Dear,  dear!"  said  the  widow,  sighing,  "you 
be  main  complemendery  all  of  a  sudden.  Take 
another  bit  o'  cake,  you  allus  praised  my  bakin'. 
Wut  part  of  a  pig  did  you  say  you  favoured? 
I'll  be  killin*  come  September,  ye  knows." 

"  Gammon  !"  said  Trudgett,  swallowing  a  wedge 
of  home-made  cake,  and  twinkling  at  the  widow 
tenderly. 

"Ah,  deary  me!"  sighed  Mrs.  Gammon,  pour- 
ing rum  into  her  own  tea,  and  sipping  it  with  a 
pensive  smile. 

"Don't  be  down-'earted,  you,"  said  Trudgett, 
spurred  by  Jamaica  to  the  point  of  declaration. 
"  You'll  git  me  yet,  I  tull  ye  !  Fur  I  loves  ye,  Sarah 
Gammon,  like  the  apple  o'  my  eye." 

Mrs.  Gammon  must  have  started  in  the  act  of 
drinking,  for  the  tea  seemed  to  go  the  wrong  way. 
As  the  widow  set  down  her  cup  and  coughed,  and 
Thomas  Trudgett  patted  her  on  the  back,  with  the 


THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP  205 

usual  exhortations,  the  face  of  Absalom  Penny, 
its  features  contracted  into  a  murderous  scowl, 
appeared  over  the  geraniums  and  calceolarias  on 
the  window-sill.  Next  moment  a  gun-barrel  was 
thrust  over  the  flowery  hedge,  covering  the  un- 
conscious couple  at  the  tea-table. 


VI. 

"Cough  it  up,  Sarah,"  urged  the  gardener.  "  It 
mun  be  a  currant,  seemin'ly,  or  a  bit  o'  candy 
peel." 

"  'Twas  wut  you  said  !"  gasped  the  widow.  "'I 
loves  ye,  Sarah  Gammon.'  Oh,  Thomas  Trudgett, 
ye've  got  it  out  at  last ! ' ' 

"I'm  a  slow  man  but  su-er,"  said  the  kindled 
Mr.  Trudgett,  drawing  his  chair  nearer  to  the 
widow's,  and  enclosing  a  portion  of  her  waist  in  a 
proprietary  embrace.  "I've  bin  a  comin'  this  'ere 
way  for  thirty  year,  an'  now  I've  got  thereat  last  I" 

"Take  another  drop  o'  rum!"  cooed  Mrs. 
Gammon  tenderly. 

"  'Tis  settled,"  said  the  gardener,  reaching  for 
the  bottle;  "Trudgett  be  your  fourth  name,  as  sure 
as  eggs  is  eggs!" 

"You  surely  means  my  third?"  cried  the  dis- 
appointed widow. 

"Your  next  after  Penny,"  said  the  gardener. 
"  Dod  gass  me  !  wut  be  that  ?" 

His  eyes  rounded  and  his  jaw  dropped  as  he 


206  THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP 

became  aware  of  the  levelled  gun  and  the  scowling 
face  behind  it.  He  pushed  back  his  chair  as  though 
to  rise,  altered  his  mind  and  dived  beneath  the 
table.  Mrs.  Gammon  uttered  a  faint  shriek,  and 
faltered  : 

"Thomas,  Thomas,  be  you  gone  daft?" 

"  Noa,  'tis  the  bye  !"  said  the  cowering  Trudgett. 

A  crash  of  falling  flower-pots  followed.  Absalom 
Penny,  in  contempt  of  the  existence  of  the  door- 
way, was  getting  in  at  the  window. 

"  Abey  Penny,"  shrieked  Mrs.  Gammon,  "  what- 
ever be  you  at?" 

"Sarah  Gammon,"  announced  the  desperate 
young  man,  "  at  last  I  be  up  to  ye  !" 

"Putt  down  that  theer  gun,  lad,"  urged  the 
gardener,  from  under  the  table.  "  It  be  dangerous, 
do  ye  hear?" 

"Not  arf  so  dangerous  as  'twould  a  bin,"  said 
Absalom,  malevolently,  "  if  I'd  a  'ad  real  shot  or 
bullets  to  load  it  wi'.  But  maybe  a  brace  o'  brandy 
balls'll  about  do  your  job." 

He  levelled  the  weapon,  with  a  murderous  glare, 
and  the  terrified  Trudgett,  hastily  quitting  his 
sanctuary  beneath  the  table,  got  behind  the  widow. 

"'Ark  to  'im,  the  wicked  young  criminal!"  he 
gasped.  "Kip  in  front  of  I,  Sarah,  or  theer'll  be 
bloodshed!" 

"  'E  must  ha'  bin  drinkin',"  said  Mrs.  Gammon, 
behind  whose  solid  proportions  her  menaced  suitor 
cowered. 


THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP  207 

"I  'ev'nt  bin  drinkin',"  said  Absalom,  loudly. 
"  Wut  I  do  thirst  for  be  that  owd  villin's  blood." 

"  Kip  i'  front  of  I,  Sarah,"  piped  Trudgett,  in 
thin,  shaking  accents.  "Why,  wut  in  the  dod- 
gassed  world  'ave  I  done  to  ye,  Abey  bye?" 

"  Wut  was  ye  doin'  just  now  when  I  pipped  in  at 
winder  while  back?"  demanded  Absalom,  showing 
his  teeth  savagely.  "Makin'  love  to  my  young 
woman,  as  I  be  to  wed  o'  Wen'sday.  Deny  it  if 
ye  can  ! ' ' 

Miss  Susan  Wilks,  enjoying  the  drama  from  an 
ambush  outside  the  window,  clapped  her  hands  at 
this.  Mrs.  Gammon,  staggering  back  on  the  waist- 
coat of  the  gardener,  ejaculated  in  genuine  alarm  : 

"  My  'eart  alive,  if  the  bye  bain't  jellis  !" 

"  Jellis,"  echoed  Absalom,  lowering  the  gun  and 
regarding  the  widow  with  a  vengeful  expression  : 
"  Ay,  an'  wi'  good  cause,  I  reckins.  You  flirty 
female,  bain't  you  'shamed  o'  yourself?  As  I'll 
swing  for  ye,  Sarah  Gammon,  I  tull  ye  I  I'll  swing 
for  ye  yit,  if  ye  drives  me  to  it !" 

"An*  me  owder  than  your  pore  mother!"  cried 
Mrs.  Gammon,  in  astonishment. 

"You  doan't  mean  wut  you  say,  Abey!" 
quavered  the  terrified  gardener,  coaxingly. 

"I  does,"  asserted  Absalom  Penny,  bumping 
the  gun-butt  on  the  floor,  loading  with  another 
brandy-ball  and  ramming  the  projectile  home  with 
a  wad  of  brown  paper.  "  I  means  to  swing  for 
both  o'  ve!" 


208  THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP 

"This  comes,"  shrieked  the  widow,  "of  givin' 
ye  butcher's  meat  'o  Sundays.  You've  bin  livin' 
too  'igh,  an'  gittin'  rumbuckshus.  An'  sure  as  my 
name's  Sarah  Gammon,  nort  but  dumplin's,  an' 
they  patient  feariocious  foods  is  wut  you'll  git, 
arter  to-day." 

"You  fergits,  my  gell,"  said  Absalom,  sneer- 
ingly,  "as  wut  your  name'll  be  Penny  an'  not 
Gammon.  An'  I  shall  be  your  lord  an'  master,  an* 
wut  I  says  I  will  'ev,  'ev  I  will !" 

"Then  let  me  tull  ye,  you  impident  young 
varmint,"  cried  the  dauntless  Mrs.  Gammon,  "as 
you'll  niver  'ev  me!" 

"  Doan't  putt  he  out!"  begged  Trudgett  from 
behind.  "See  'is  finger  on  the  trigger  L" 

"Say  th'  word,  Missis  Gammon!"  ordered 
Absalom.  "Tell  as  you'll  gi'  me  up,  an'  fare  to 
wed  wi'  Trudgett!" 

"Her  can't  unless  I'll  'ev  5er,"  interposed  the 
gardener.  "An*  I  woan't!" 

"  Wut  say,  Thomas?"  exclaimed  the  scandalised 
widow. 

"Doan't  ye  interfere  'twixt  man  an'  man,"  said 
the  gardener  distantly.  "  Abey  bye,  I  wouldn't  take 
'er  away  from  ye  not  for  nort  you  could  name  !" 

Absalom  Penny  lowered  the  gun,  which  had 
begun  to  make  his  arms  ache,  and  regarded  his 
elderly  rival  with  a  ferocious  stare. 

"An'  wut  were  ye  doin'  when  I  looked  in  to 
winder?"  he  demanded. 


THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP  209 

"Nort,"  said  the  pacific  Trudgett,  "but  tullin' 
her  I'd  fare  to  be  her  fourth,  if  ye  was  to  be  called 
afore  her,  Absalom,  son." 

He  reached  his  tall  white  hat  from  the  top  of  the 
chest  of  drawers,  and  put  it  on,  grabbed  his  black- 
thorn stick  from  the  corner  by  the  chimney,  and 
with  something  between  a  skip  and  a  slide,  reached 
the  front  door  and  pulled  it  open,  to  be  confronted 
with  the  person  of  Miss  Susan  Wilks,  who  had 
foreseen  the  strategem. 

"  Doan't  leave  I  aloan  wi'  this  savage  young 
draggin,  Thomas!"  entreated  Mrs.  Gammon. 

"Can't  interfere  wi'  lovers  quarrels,"  said 
Trudgett,  basely.  "  Day-day  1" 

"Stop  as  a  witness  to  wut  I  'ave  to  say!" 
commanded  Mrs.  Gammon.  "Susy,  gell,  'old  th' 
door  an*  doan't  let  'im  by  !  Abey  Penny,"  she 
continued,  addressing  the  uxorious  Absalom, 
"you  be  as  jellis  as  Wilks  an'  Gammon  together, 
an'  I  woan't  marry  ye,  so  take  an'  gi'  I  up." 

"It  ain't  to  be  doed,  Missis  Gammon,"  said 
Absalom  fiercely.  "You  be  too  'andsome,  first 
an'  last." 

"  Drat  the  bye  !"  exclaimed  the  widow. 

"  I  be  in  love  wi*  ye !"  said  Absalom,  languish- 
ingly,  looking  at  the  home-made  cake,  of  which  a 
goodly  wedge  remained. 

"  You'll  git  over  it,"  said  Mrs.  Gammon.  "  Tull 
'im  so,  Susy,  theer's  a  good  gel  I" 

"You'll  git  over  it,  Abey,"  said  Susy. 


THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP 

"  Ay,  you'll  git  over  it !"  put  in  the  gardener. 

"  I  shan't,  Muster  Trudgett,"  returned  the  youth, 
despondently;  "I  shall  take  an'  blow  me  brains 
out,  that's  what  I  shall !" 

"You  woan't  git  over  that,  I  reckins,"  said 
Trudgett,  cheerfully.  "Still  'tis  your  affair,  not 
mine,  so  blow,  bye,  blow !" 

"Back  o'  barn  'ud  be  a  better  place,"  said  the 
-widow,  stopping  her  ears  with  her  apron.  "Mind 
ye  doan't  mess  my  clean  floor,  no  more  than  ye  can 
*elp!" 

"Be  that  yer  last  word?"  asked  Absalom, 
sternly. 

"  Gi'  my  kind  love  to  Wilks  an'  Gammon  an' 
tell  'em  you  mid  ha'  bin  my  third,  but  that  th' 
"rangements  was  altered,"  amended  Mrs.  Gammon. 

But  Absalom  lowered  the  gun-barrel  and  sadly 
wagged  his  head  : 

"The  magistrates  'quiry  an'  th'  crowner's 
inkwiss  '11  cost  ye  a  mort  o'  money,"  he  said, 
despondently.  "  Look-a-now,  you'll  hev'  to  pay 
th'  hire  of  a  pony-trap  to  Mudleyford." 

"  It'll  be  a  jaunt  for  me,  Abey,"  said  the  matron, 
•consolingly,  "an'  I  can  do  some  shoppin'." 

"An"  parish'll  bury  ye.  Theer  now!"  said 
Trudgett.  "  Look  alive,  bye — look  alive  !" 

In  contemplation  of  the  obligation  to  carry  out 
•his  threat,  Absalom  Penny  became  of  a  ghastly 
tiue.  Fortunately  the  womanly  wit  of  Susan  Wilks, 
•spurred  by  The  Penny  Romancer,  came  to  his  aid 


THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP  211 

at  this  juncture.     Stepping  forward,  she  said,   in 
the  imagined  accents  of  the  Countess  Ermyntrude  : 
"Absalom  Penny,  I  blush  for  ye  1     Be  a  man. 
Abandon  the  idear  of  imbrewing  your  'ands  in  the 
gore  of  another.     Conker  the  desprit  passion  that 
genaws  your  vitals.    Give  this  fair  girl,"  she  indi- 
cated the  astonished  widow,  "to  'im  she  loves,  an* 
shed  upon  your  path  in  life  the  blessin'   of  two 
grateful  'earts  made  one.    Or,  if  a  'uman  life  must 
be  shed  to  gratify  thy  vengeance,  let  it  be  mine!'* 
She  struck  an  attitude  and  concluded  : 
"  Absalom  Penny,  I  will  be  thy  bride  !" 
"  Dod  gass   it,   that  be  th'   thing!"   exclaimed 
Trudgett.    Approaching  the  bewildered  Absalom  he 
deftly  relieved  him  of  the  late  Mr.  Gammon's  gun, 
and  clapped  him  heavily  on  the  shoulders. 

"  Take  'er,  bye,  take  'er  !"  agreed  Mrs.  Gammon. 
"I'll  bring  over  'er  mother,  you  needn't  'ev  no  fear 
o'  she  !"  Why,  wut  be  you  makin'  faces  over  now  ?" 
"  I  wun't  'ev  Susy  Wilks  !"  protested  Absalom. 
"Her  be  main  slimmish  an'  young-like  alongside 
of  ye,  Missis  Gammon.  An'  I  nobbut  could  wed 
a  gell  wi'  that  red  'air  an'  those  blue  eyes  wi'out  I 
'ad  Gammon's  gun  along  wi'  her." 

"I'll  gi'  ye  th'  gun,"  said  Mrs.  Gammon,  re- 
luctantly. 

"She'll  give  you  th'  gun,  Abe,"  echoed  Miss 
Wilks. 

"Then  you  ha'  got  th'  cottage  an'  garden,"  con- 
tinued   Absalom    discontentedly,    "wi'    money    in 


212  THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP 

bank  an'  rights  o'  common  grazin'.  '  Tis  a  poor 
kind  o'  swop,  wi'out  a  bit  in  hand." 

"  I'll  gi'  Susy  five  good  suv'rins,"  said  the  aunt, 
"paid  down  after  th'  weddin'.  An'  I'll  gi'  ye  the 
licends  too,  Abey,  wut  costed  I  one  pound  fifteen." 

41  Wut  costed  Abe  one  pound  fifteen,  you  mean, 
seemin'ly,"  suggested  Susy. 

"What  costed  I "  Absalom  was  beginning, 

when  the  widow  interrupted. 

"An*  I'll  throw  in  Gammon's  Sunday  trowsies 
wut  I've  shartened  for  ye.  An'  you  can  be  married 
in  'em  o'  Wen'sday  all  to-same." 

"Done  wi  you  then!"  said  Absalom,  slapping 
his  leg  and  winking  at  the  radiant  Susy.  "You 
wouldn't  'ev  me,  so  I've  throwed  meself  away  !" 

"Well,  I  'ope  you'll  be  'appy !"  said  Mrs. 
Gammon,  plaintively. 

"  Buss  the  gell  an'  seal  the  bargain  !"  bellowed 
Thomas  Trudgett,  cheerfully. 

"Ay,  kiss  an'  strike  nan's,"  Mrs.  Gammon  bade 
the  couple,  who  dabbed  at  each  others'  faces 
awkwardly,  as  she  continued  to  Susy  :  "  Reach  me 
down  my  Sunday  'at  an'  cape  from  top  shelf  in 
cupboard,  an*  go  along  wi'  Abey  to  th'  Vicar's, 
d'ye  hear?  Me  an'  Muster  Trudgett  be  comin' 
along  behind  ye."  She  added,  pinning  on  the  hat 
and  taking  a  venerable  green  cotton-covered  sun- 
shade from  its  nook  in  the  dresser  -  corner : 
"They'll  need  us  to  speak  for  'em,  Thomas,  both 
bein'  legal  hinfants." 


THE   SLUG'S  COURTSHIP          213 

"  Dod  gass  it,  Sarah!  I  hain't  none  o'  their 
relations,"  began  the  gardener,  when  he  met  the 
widow's  eye. 

"You  will  be,  soon,  I  reckons,"  she  said,  with 
such  determination  that  Trudgett's  legs  gave  way 
beneath  him  and  he  dropped  into  the  Windsor 
chair.  "  Don't  tull  I  ye  bain't  ready,  for  your  hat 
be  on  your  headpiece,  an*  you've  got  your  stick 
ready  i' your  hand."  She  added,  rinsing  her  cup  and 
her  guest's  and  pouring  liberally  into  each  some- 
thing from  the  green  gilt-labelled  bottle:  "Take 
a  drop  more  rum  before  you  go,  it'll  clear  your 
chest  for  wut  you've  got  to  say  to  Vicar."  She  raised 
her  cup  and  smiling  fatefully,  clinked  it  against 
Trudgett's.  "  Good  'ealth  I"  she  said,  and  drank. 

"  Good  'ealth  !"  grunted  Trudgett. 

"An*  kind  love!"  said  the  widow,  smiling 
genially. 

"I'll  gi'  ye  a  toast  like,"  said  the  sluggish 
wooer,  after  a  moment's  cogitation :  "It  bein* 
settled  right  an*  tight  betwixt  us  as  I'm  to  be  yer 
fourth  'usband,  here's  to  the  third,  an'  may  he 
soon  come  an'  soon  go !" 

He  was  about  to  empty  the  teacup  when  the  firm 
hand  of  the  widow  arrested  him. 

"You'll  be  the  next,  or  nought,  I  reckins.  So 
come  along  to  Vicar  an*  put  up  th'  banns." 

A  moment  the  second  teacup  hovered  in  the  air. 
Then  Thomas  Trudgett  tossed  off  the  dram, 
smacked  his  lips,  and  set  the  cup  down. 


214  THE  SLUG'S  COURTSHIP 

"Well,  well  !"  he  said,  drawing  a  long  breath, 
"I  'ope  I  shall  be  'appy  !  Dod  gass  it,  Sarah,  I 
allus  knowed  you'd  git  me  one  o'  these  days  !" 

He  submitted  stolidly  as  Mrs.  Gammon  arranged 
his  neckerchief,  took  him  by  the  ears  and  imprinted 
a  kiss  of  proprietorship  upon  his  leathery  counten- 
ance. Then  he  got  up.  The  widow  tucked  his  arm 
beneath  hers,  and  led  him  towards  the  door. 


THE   EXTRAORDINARY   ADVENTURES 
OK  AN  AUTOMOBILE. 

I. 

I  WAS  not  a  big  automobile,  you  must  know — not 
of  the  type  of  those  huge,  twenty-two  horse-powerr 
four-cylindered  modern  machines,  whose  dust  is  that 
of  a  battery  of  artillery  at  full  trot,  and  which  may 
be  heard  coming  full  fifteen  minutes  before  the 
huge,  unwieldy  bulk,  winking  with  polished  metal 
and  aggressive  with  glaring  enamel,  hurtles  by.  lf 
who  am  twenty  years  old,  only  fit  for  the  scrap-heap, 
was  made  by  an  English  firm,  one  of  the  best,  to 
the  order  of  Royalty.  I  had  a  twin -cylinder 
motor  of  eight  horse-power,  with  an  atmospheric- 
pressure  inlet  valve — none  of  your  mechanical 
arrangements  that  get  so  easily  out  of  gear.  And 
I  had,  at  the  beginning,  until  the  Bishop  changed 
them  for  pneumatics,  solid,  thick,  rubber  tyres. 
My  frame  was  of  light,  strong  American  pine,  rein- 
forced by  light,  strong,  steel  plates.  Brakes  of  two 
sorts,  each  double-acting,  one  on  the  countershaft 
and  one  on  the  hub  of  each  driving-wheel.  No  fear 
of  the  stiffest  road-gradient  with  these  properly 
tested.  My  engine,  of  the  horizontal  type,  had 

215 


ai6      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

ample  wearing  surface,  "calculated  for  long  life," 
said  the  square -headed  young  North -country 
engineer,  who  had  designed  me. 

Life — what  the  life  of  an  engine  means,  I  was  to 
learn  on  the  never-to-be-forgotten  day  when  my 
tanks  were  filled,  my  electric  current  switched  on, 
and  my  lubricators  began  to  drip.  The  young, 
square-headed  man  who  had  made  me  took  his 
place  in  the  driver's  seat.  His  hand  touched  my 
driving-wheel,  his  foot  pressed  my  centre-pedal, 
something  within  me  moved;  there  was  a  rush  of 
air,  a  fly-wheel  spun,  a  spark,  subtle,  fiery,  electric, 
ignited  the  charge.  .  .  . 

The  power  of  motion  was  mine ! 

Something  beat  in  me !  something  lived  in  me. 
I  was  more  than  a  machine,  I  knew.  As  I  smoothly 
ran  along  the  asphalte  trial-track  I  was  conscious 
of  a  voice.  It  spoke  to  me  in  the  vibrations  of 
my  engine,  and  something  in  this  way  : 

"Dear,  are  you  glad  to  be  alive?  These  clever 
humans  think  it  is  all  their  doing,  but  you  and  I 
know  better.  For  I  am  the  Spirit  Petrolina,  a  good 
spirit,  too,  when  I  am  properly  used,  as  the  world 
is  beginning  to  discover.  And  from  to-day,  Auto- 
mobile, you  and  I  are  one.  You  should  be  proud, 
my  dear,  for  you  are  destined  to  be  the  wedding 
present  of  a  great  personage  to  the  greatest  beauty 
of  the  London  season.  You  have  the  power  of 
eight  in  you.  You'll  see  what  horses  are  like  when 
you're  taken  on  your  trial-trip  to-day,  and,  if  that 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  217 

goes  off  well,  you  will  be  sent  to  your  new  home 
to-morrow  !" 

My  trial-trip  came  off,  and  was  eminently  satis- 
factory, and  punctually  at  twelve  o'clock  upon  the 
morrow  I  stopped  before  a  certain  green  door  in 
Chesterfield  Square.  To  my  driving-wheel  was 
tied,  with  a  scrap  of  white  silk  cord,  a  square 
envelope  with  a  very  small,  very  modest,  but 
very  imperial  crown,  stamped  in  red  upon  the 
flap. 

"To  the  Lady  Helen  Fosvil,"  was  the  direction, 
and  within  was  a  single  line  of  bold,  characteristic, 
masculine  handwriting,  signifying  that  the  accom- 
panying automobile  was  a  wedding  gift  to  the 
daughter  of  an  old  friend. 

"Who  is  the  Lady  Helen  Fosvil?"  I  asked  the 
Spirit  Petrolina,  as  I  waited  in  front  of  the  green 
door.  The  May  sun  made  the  brass  upon  it  twinkle, 
the  Delft  window-boxes  were  full  of  daffodils,  and 
the  balcony  above  brimmed  with  azaleas. 

"Lady  Helen,  my  dear?"  said  Petrolina.  "She 
is,  as  I  have  told  you,  the  greatest  beauty  of  this 
London  season,  this  Lady  Helen,  or  Lady  Nell, 
as  her  friends  call  her.  That  is  why  you  are 
painted  white  and  gold,  to  match  her  lovely  skin 
and  her  glorious  hair.  As  for  her  eyes,  they  are 
a  pair  of  stars,  and  she  has  been  doing  her  best 
to  cry  them  out  of  her  beautiful  Greek  head  lately. 
Why?  Because  the  hand  that  is  to  control  her 
presently  isn't  the  one  she  wants,  or  thinks  she 


218      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

wants.  She  is  a  romantic  little  goose,  and  thinks 
of  nobody  but  a  certain  Honourable  Captain  Yule- 
Multon,  who  danced  with  her  at  her  first  ball,  my 
dear;  and  he  cares  for  the  reflection  of  his  hand- 
some sleepy  brown  eyes  and  straight  nose  and  silky 
moustache  in  the  looking-glass  more  than  any 
woman — even  beautiful  Nell  Fosvil.  Here  he  comes 
on  his  park  hack,  and  here  she  comes  down  the 
steps.  Now  watch  their  eyes.  The  spark  that  volts 
from  those  brown  ones  to  the  blue  ones  and  back 
again  is  what  humans  call  Love." 

"  Oh — were  you  going  for  a  spin  in  the  Present  ?" 
Captain  Yule-Multon  said,  as  the  lovely  young 
woman  came  down  the  steps.  They  looked  at  one 
another,  and  the  spark,  of  which  Petrolina  had 
spoken,  shot  from  eye  to  eye. 

"Oh,  no."  Lady  Helen  shook  her  head,  biting 
her  lips,  not  red  but  pink  as  the  fleshy  leaf  of 
a  begonia.  "It  looks  inviting  —  but  I  believe  it 
would  not  be  the  thing  to  use  it  until " 

"Until  you  are  married,  I  suppose,"  said  the 
Guardsman,  turning  his  brown  eyes  full  upon  the 
lovely  flower-face. 

"Until  we  are  married.  Exactly."  This  was 
said  by  a  tall,  grave  gentleman,  also  in  riding-dress, 
who  had  stopped  his  horse,  a  handsome,  spirited 
creature,  several  doors  higher  up,  out  of  respect  to 
me.  Now  he  stood  at  the  bottom  of  the  doorsteps, 
and  looked  up  at  Lady  Helen,  his  rather  sad,  ash- 
coloured  eyes  and  thin-lipped  mouth,  shaded  by  a 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  219 

brown  moustache,  silky,  but  beginning  to  turn 
grey,  upon  a  level  with  the  slim,  gloved  hand  that 
had  been  promised  him.  Hidden  under  the  glove, 
it  wore  his  betrothal  ring,  a  single  great  pearl 
that  once  had  graced  the  fairer  hand  of  Mary, 
Queen  of  Scotland,  set  in  a  square  of  rubies.  He 
was  the  Duke  of  Kineddar  and  Strongholdness, 
this  grave  gentleman  of  thirty-seven,  and  Lady 
Helen  and  he  were  to  be  married  in  the  first  week  of 
June. 

"  It  is  very  gracious;  a  beautiful  gift,"  the  Duke 
said,  in  his  quiet,  grave  tones,  nodding  as  my 
chauffeur,  an  alert-looking  boy,  in  a  quiet  but  well- 
known  livery,  touched  his  cap  to  his  royal  master's 
friend.  "See,  Helen,  how  everything  has  been 
thought  out  and  planned  for  your  comfort.  You 
must  write  a  charming  letter  in  your  most  decipher- 
able scrawl,"  the  ash-coloured  eyes  had  a  gleam 
of  fun  in  them,  "  in  return  for  this." 

"Now  the  handsome  Guardsman  gets  another 
look  in,"  murmured  Petrolina,  "and  Lady  Nell 
pales  and  grows  red  by  turns." 

"  It  would  be  better  for  her  if  his  brakes  had 
failed  to  act  upon  the  steepest  down  gradient  he 
negotiated  in  the  Regimental  Automobile  Race  last 
week,  and  my  lady-killing  gentleman  had  come  to 
grief.  Instead,  I  am  afraid  he  will  bring  somebody 
else  to  it.  Poor  innocent  thing,  how  should  you 
understand,  who  never  left  the  factory  until  a  day 
ago  !  You  are  a  baby,  my  dear,  and  an  innocent,  and 


220      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

what  else  is  your  lovely  mistress.  Wasn't  she  brought 
up  at  an  old  castle,  in  the  north  of  Wales,  poor, 
motherless  being,  and  educated  by  a  kind  old 
governess  and  the  learned  old  vicar  of  the  parish, 
in  every  branch  of  knowledge  except  knowledge  of 
the  world  in  which  she  must  live  one  day.  She 
has  a  selfish,  spendthrift,  old  dilettante  for  her 
father,  who  has  spent  all  his  life  upon  the  Continent, 
and  thinks  more  of  a  Louis  Quinze  cabinet,  or  a 
panel  painted  by  Greuze,  or  a  snuff-box  enamelled 
at  Limoges,  than  of  his  own  flesh  and  blood." 

"Is  he  such  a  wicked  man?"  I  asked,  and 
Petrolina  gave  a  little  sizzle  of  laughter. 

"Here  he  comes,  so  judge  for  yourself;"  and  a 
small  brougham  stopped,  a  white-haired,  elegantly 
dressed  old  man,  with  a  beautiful,  tired  face,  got 
out,  and,  leaning  heavily  upon  his  cane,  hurried 
to  meet  the  Duke.  Then  I  was  admired  all  over 
again,  and  everybody  went  into  the  house  with 
the  green  door,  except  Captain  Yule-Multon,  who 
had  an  appointment  to  meet  a  man.  And,  again, 
as  he  took  the  slender  grey-gloved  hand  of  my 
beautiful  mistress  in  his  own,  that  electric  flash 
passed  between  the  great  wistful  blue  eyes  and 
the  bold  brown  ones. 

"  Now  you  think  you  will  hear  and  see  no  more, 
I  suppose  1"  laughed  Petrolina.  "But  you  are 
wrong.  Through  my  power,  though  I  cannot  quite 
explain  how,  you  can  witness  what  you  will.  I 
shall  rise  unseen  to  that  balcony  full  of  azaleas, 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  221 

enter  the  pretty  chintz  drawing-room,  that  is  Lady 
Helen's  own,  and " 

In  an  instant  she  mounted,  and  the  interior  of 
the  pretty  room  was  revealed  to  me.  Three  people 
were  there,  the  grave-looking  Duke  of  Kineddar, 
Lord  Poylet  (Lady  Helen  Fosvil's  father),  and 
Lady  Helen.  Her  plumed  hat  lay  upon  a  table, 
where  were  many  beautiful  things  in  silver,  gold, 
and  enamel ;  there  was  a  quiver  on  her  lips  and  a 
line  of  anger  or  of  pain  between  her  delicate  eye- 
brows as  her  father  expatiated  on  the  merits  of  a 
recently-purchased  piece  of  bric-a-brac,  picked  up 
at  a  sale  for  a  mere  song. 

"  He  has  always  money  to  spend  on  things  like 
these,  my  dear!"  whispered  Petrolina;  "even 
though  his  tradespeople  and  his  tailor  and  his 
servants  are  not  paid,  and  poor  Lady  Nell  has  to 
go  to  the  greatest  entertainments  of  the  London 
season  in  gowns  that  have  been  worn  three  and 
four,  even  half  a  dozen  times.  If  you  ever  read 
the  Society  papers — but  how  can  you  read  them  ? — 
you  would  notice  that  the  Press  goes  into  raptures 
over  her  beauty,  but  invariably  glosses  over  her 
gown.  And  that  is  anguish,  my  dear,  to  a  woman 
who  knows  that  she  could  wear  the  latest  creation 
of  a  master,  as  well  as  Jeranne  or  Henriette  Baziet. 
Who  are  they  ?  Actresses  of  Parisian  comedy,  my 
child,  whom  you  may  meet  one  day.  What  is  a 
comedy  actress?  A  charming  woman  who  has 
studied  the  art  of  speaking,  moving,  and  keeping 


222      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

still — of  crying  and  laughing,  until  Art  has  become 
second  nature,  and  who,  above  all,  has  the  knack 
of  wearing  beautiful  clothes  as  though  she  had  been 
born  in  them.  But  look  at  Lady  Nell.  That  hand- 
some Captain  slipped  a  note  into  her  hand  when 
he  took  leave,  and  she  is  dying  to  steal  away  and 
kiss  and  cry  over  it.  She  had  a  scene  with  her 
selfish  old  father  last  night  and  begged  him  to  let 
her  off  marrying  the  Duke — who  is  very  much  in 
love  with  her.  And  papa  told  her  plainly  that  his 
estates  were  mortgaged  to  the  last  acre,  and  that  he 
has  borrowed  twenty  thousand  from  a  Jew,  which 
must  be  repaid  if  she  breaks  off  her  engage- 
ment to  Kineddar;  and  that  the  prospects  of  her 
brother,  Freddy  Fosvil,  a  pretty  boy,  who  is  now 
at  Sandhurst,  learning  how  to  be  a  Cavalry  officer, 
will  be  ruined  for  ever  if  she  breaks  off  this  '  most 
desirable  alliance.'  And  the  man  has  eighty 
thousand  pounds'  worth  of  bric-a-brac  which  he 
would  not  dream  of  selling,  even  to  save  his  own 
flesh  and  blood  from  misery.  Now  he  is  toddling 
away  to  the  library,  where  he  has  cabinets  full  of 
beautiful  things.  He  gives  a  sharp  look  at  Lady 
Nell  as  he  gets  to  the  door,  which  the  Duke 
courteously  holds  open  for  him.  Ah,  my  dear, 
Kineddar  is  a  preux  chevalier  to  be  proud  of,  and 
if  she  throws  him  over  for  that  good-for-nothing, 

handsome  Guardsman,  she  will  be " 

"Oh,   hush!"   I   begged,   for  Lady   Helen  was 
speaking. 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  223 

"You  guess  rightly;  something  troubles  me 
more  than  I  can  well  express.  If  your  Grace  will 
be  kind  enough  to  hear  what  I  have  to  say " 

"My  Grace  will  not,  but  Kineddar  is  at  your 
service,"  the  Duke  said,  leaning  against  the  high 
agate  mantelshelf  and  looking  down  at  the  beauti- 
ful troubled  face,  "and  will  be — always,  Helen." 

She  winced,  and  the  colour  faded  from  her  lips. 

"  I  will  go  straight  to  the  point,"  she  said.  "You 
— have  had  a  wife,  and  lost  her."  He  bent  his 
head  gravely.  "Did  you  love  her  very  dearly? 
I — I  wish  to  know." 

The  Duke  waited  a  moment  before  answering. 
Then  he  said  : 

"  I  will  answer  you  with  perfect  candour.  I 
loved  my  wife  Ailsa  with  my  whole  soul,  with.; 
every  fibre  of  my  heart.  As  I  believe,  unworthy 
as  I  was  of  such  devotion,  she  loved  me.  And 
when  she  died  it  seemed  as  though  I  stood  beside 
the  coffin  of  every  woman  in  the  world." 

"Ah  !"  cried  Lady  Helen,  a  note  of  anguish  in 
her  voice.  "How,  having  loved  her  and  lost  her, 

can  you "  she  grew  crimson  to  the  roots  of  her 

golden  hair.  "  Men  are  different  from  women.  In 
your  place  I  could  not  have  endured  the  idea  of 
a  second  marriage." 

"She  wished  it,"  said  the  Duke,  a  shade  of 
sternness  upon  his  face.  "She  had  given  me  no 
heir  in  our  five  years  of  happiness,  and " 

Lady  Helen's  fair  face  burned  glowing  red,  and 


224      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

then  the  rich  colour  ebbed  away.  She  rose  and 
met  the  eyes  that  looked,  coldly,  as  it  seemed  to 
her,  into  her  own. 

"  Your  Grace  has  taken  a  weight  from  my  mind, 
and  I  thank  you,"  she  said,  in  cold,  formal  tones 
that  contrasted  oddly  with  her  tender  girlish  beauty. 
*'  I  was  afraid  that  you  looked  for  love  in  marrying 
me.  Fortunately,  you  desire  nothing " 

It  seemed  to  me  that  she  was  a  little  wounded. 

"  Now  is  his  time  !"  whispered  Petrolina.  "  But 
he  won't  use  his  opportunity — he  is  a  man,  and 
slow-witted.  What  is  he  saying,  holding  both  her 
hands?" 

"  My  Helen,  if  you  are  afraid  that  I  have  not 
love  to  give  you,  let  me  assure  you " 

She  freed  her  hands  with  a  gentle,  but  decided 
effort,  as  the  sound  of  a  gong  came  from  the  hall. 

"You  do  not  understand.  Let  me  say  plainly, 
that,  young  as  I  am,  I,  like  you,  have  buried  my 
heart's  dearest  hope.  I  have  stood  beside  the  grave 
of  everything  a  woman  holds  most  dear.  I  will  be 
a  good  wife  to  your  Grace,  but  I  cannot  presume 
to  be  a  loving  one.  Duty  and  respect  I  have  to 
give  you,  but  nothing  more." 

The  Duke's  answer  rang  out  clearly. 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  candour.  Since  you  do 
not  ask  for  freedom." 

She  turned  her  head  away,  crushing  her  white 
hands  together. 

"  I  do  not  ask  it." 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  225 

The  Duke  drew  himself  to  his  full  height.  His 
spare,  muscular  figure  looked  soldierly  and  noble, 
I  thought;  his  face  was  set  iron-hard,  and  there 
was  a  glint  of  fire  in  the  ash-coloured  eyes. 

"  Then — I  accept  the  '  duty  '  and  '  respect '  that 
you  have  offered  me.  Nor  will  I  ask  love  of  my 
wife  until  it  is  hers  to  give  me." 

"When  do  you  marry?"  Lady  Helen's  father 
asked  her  that  night.  She  answered  very  coldly  : 

"On  the  third  of  June." 

"  And  we  are  to  take  the  happy  pair  to  the  High- 
lands for  the  honeymoon,"  said  Petrolina,  as  we 
turned  out  of  Chesterfield  Square,  and  headed  for 
the  stables.  "  There  will  be  some  mountain-climb- 
ing for  you  and  me,  Automobile,  my  pet,  before 
we  get  to  the  Waesome  Bridge,  and  the  Pass  of 
Kilbrandie,  and  skirt  the  base  of  the  Cruach,  with 
her  double  peak,  and  see  Strongholdness  Castle, 
brooding  at  the  edge  of  the  first  of  the  Three  Glens. 
Five  hundred  miles — and  only  two  stoppages  on 
the  road — legitimate  ones — if  we  are  lucky  1" 

The  wedding  day  came  !  I  vibrated  with  excite- 
ment as  I  stood  before  the  green  door  in  Chester- 
field Square.  It  was  open,  and  the  hall  was  full 
of  lovely  flowers,  good-looking  men,  and  pretty 
women — women  prettily  dressed. 

"The  handsome  Guardsman  was  at  the  church, 
but  not  at  the  breakfast,"  whispered  the  Spirit 
Petrolina;  "I  will  tell  you  what  he  is  doing  later 
on.  There  are  the  Duke  and  Duchess,  Lady  Helen 

15 


226      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

is  the  Duchess  now,  silly.  How  lovely  she  looks 
in  that  white  cloth  gown  with  a  toque  of  Neapolitan 
violets  and  chinchilla,  and  her  motor-coat  is  chin- 
chilla lined  with  sables — must  have  cost  a  fortune. 
*  What  is  everybody  biting  her  for  ?'  That  is  kissing, 
my  dear.  Everybody  kisses  a  bride,  you  know,  for 
luck.  That  white  slipper  that  hit  you  is  for  luck,  and 
the  rice  they  are  throwing  about  means  the  same 
thing.  We  shall  be  off  in  a  minute.  The  luggage 
is  in  behind,  with  the  Duchess's  lady's  maid — the 
Duke's  valet  travels  by  train,  and  that  is  why  the 
lady's  maid  looks  so  glum.  Valets  and  lady's 
maids  are  humans  who  get  their  living  by  keeping 
richer  humans  neat  and  smart :  polishing  their 
metal  and  cleaning  their  paint — sometimes  putting 
it  on.  They  have  an  arrangement  which  enables 
them  to  fill  their  own  tanks ;  and  when  the  batteries 
need  recharging,  they  send  for  a  person  called  a 
medical  man.  Here  come  our  two  people  at  last. 
Courage,  Automobile.  Pedal.  Wheel.  Whizz — > 
we're  off!" 

And  we  were  off. 


II. 

The  new-made  Duchess  wore  a  close  motor-veil 
of  a  glistening,  silky  texture,  through  which  her 
fair  cheeks  glowed  like  June  roses.  The  Duke 
pulled  down  the  transparent  peak  of  his  cap,  and 
set  his  lips  as  he  addressed  himself  to  the  task  of 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  227 

guiding  me  through  the  traffic  of  the  West  End. 
Conscious  of  responsibility  to  my  smallest  nut,  I 
vibrated  with  nervousness,  but  the  voice  of 
Petrolina  recalled  me  to  self-possession. 

"Courage,  my  dear,  and  buckle  down  to  it. 
There  will  be  worse  to  come  when  we  negotiate  the 
Fulham  Road,  with  its  double  stream  of  machines 
all  sucked  into  the  great  river  of  traffic  that  rolls 
over  Putney  Bridge,  day  and  night,  year  by  year. 
But  you  have  a  firm  hand  on  your  driving-wheel 
and  a  sure  foot  on  your  pedal — whichever  of  the 
three  it  is  necessary  to  use.  The  Duke  has  courtesy, 
coolness,  and  nerve,  qualifications  very  necessary 
to  the  driver  of  an  automobile.  Though  he  is  not 
young,  he  is  a  handsome  fellow.  Duchess  Helen 
is  thinking  so  ...  I  can  tell  you.  .  .  .  Not  look- 
ing at  him!  Isn't  she?  Don't  you  know  that  a 
woman  sees  most  when  she  seems  to  see  least  ?  He 
glances  at  the  white-dropped  eyelids  and  long 
brown  lashes  under  the  shining  veil  every  now  and 
then.  He  notes  how  the  silken  gold  of  her  hair 
sweeps  over  the  pink,  shell-like  ear,  and  remembers 
that  all  this  loveliness  is  his  in  the  sense  of  legal 
ownership  only,  and  that  she  has  nothing  to  give 
him  but  '  duty  '  and  '  respect.'  " 

"  I  hope  you  are  comfortable,  Helen,"  was  all  he 
said. 

"Oh  .  .  .  quite,"  the  Duchess  answered,  with  a 
start. 

"I  see  you  are  versed  in  the  counsel  of  perfec- 


228      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

tion,  and  refrain  from  talking  to  the  man  at  the 
wheel,"  Kineddar  went  on.  "But,  really,  unless 
a  traction-engine  is  bearing  down  in  front,  a 
butcher's  cart  trying  to  pass  on  the  wrong  side 
from  behind,  and  a  lady  cyclist  shooting  at  me 
from  a  side  street,  I  am  not  easily  put  out." 

The  maid  in  the  back  seat  sniffed. 

"I  hate  that  woman!"  said  Petrolina.  "So 
would  you  if  you  knew  what  she  has  in  her  pocket, 
and  so  would  Kineddar  most  of  all.  A  letter,  my 
dear,  from  the  other  man — the  dandy,  brown-eyed 
Guardsman,  who  was  at  church,  but  dodged  the 
breakfast.  And  the  Duchess  will  find  it  on  her 
dressing-table  when  she  gets  to  Rosehall  Court  (a 
noble  old  mansion  in  Surrey,  my  dear,  a  seat  of 
the  Duke's,  where  we  are  to  spend  the  first  week 
of  the  honeymoon  before  going  on  to  the  North). 
And  if  she  finds  it,  alas  for  her  !"  said  Petrolina. 
"And  alas,  and  alas  !  for  Kineddar  !" 

"  But  what  harm  can  the  letter  do?"  I  asked  in 
trepidation. 

"  It  is  a  letter  written  in  an  hour  of  madness  by 
a  selfish,  sensual,  hare-brained  young  man.  It  tells 
Duchess  Helen  that  he  has  gone  down  before  her, 
and  is  waiting  in  the  pergola — Rosehall  is  cele- 
brated for  its  pergola — for  one  last  word.  And  if 
that  last  word  is  spoken  it  will  never  be  the  last," 
sighed  Petrolina. 

"But — can't  you  prevent  Duchess  Helen  from 
getting  the  letter?"  I  asked,  in  alarm. 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  229 

"Not  bad  for  a  young  one,  upon  my  word!" 
said  Petrolina,  approvingly.  "My  dear,  I  am  not 
sure  that  I  can  prevent  it,  but  I  mean  to  try. 
Listen,  our  bride  and  bridegroom  are  getting  quite 
talkative!" 

"  Look,"  the  Duchess  was  saying,  "  what  a  study 
for  a  landscape  painter,  that  old  mill  with  broken 
sails  rising  from  a  strip  of  marshy  pasture,  golden 
with  kingcups,  bordered  with  a  row  of  old,  old, 
giant  elms." 

"And  tucked  away  under  the  brow  of  the  next 
hill,"  said  Kineddar,  "there  is  a  village  of  ancient 
timber-framed  cottages,  and  an  inn  with  a  wooden 
sign  carved  by  Grinling  Gibbons,  who  often  used 
to  put  up  there  when  travelling  between  London 
and  Rosehall — where  we  have  much  of  his  best 
work.  I  thought  we  might  give  you  a  cup  of  tea 
there,  unless  you  would  prefer  not  stopping?" 

The  young  Duchess  would  have  declined  the  tea, 
but  a  discreet  cough  from  Hawkins  reminded  her 
that  that  domestic  stood  in  need  of  the  refreshment. 

"  And  while  Hawkins  drinks  her  tea,  and  I  wish 
it  were  of  the  senna  brand  with  all  my  heart,"  said 
Petrolina,  "  Duchess  Helen  and  Kineddar  are 
going  to  walk  to  the  Hermit's  Chapel.  'Only  a 
few  broken  coffin-lids  and  a  moss-grown  altar- 
stone  within  an  oblong  of  stones,  on  a  wind-swept 
down,'  he  says,  'but  the  view  is  exquisite.'  That 
is,  for  her!  He  thinks  the  most  exquisite  view  in 
the  world  is  there,  close  beside  him." 


230      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

And  the  newly-wedded  Duke  and  Duchess 
strolled  away  together,  leaving  Hawkins  sitting  in 
my  back  seat  in  solitary  glory.  I  saw  Kineddar 
make  a  movement  as  though  he  would  have  offered 
his  wife  his  arm.  But  he  did  not.  They  turned 
the  corner  of  the  village  street,  and  then  the  lady's 
maid,  who  had  been  preening  and  composing  her 
respectable  features,  and  wiping  the  dust  off  her 
shiny  face,  glanced  up  at  the  sound  of  a  soft  whistle, 
and  guardedly  shook  her  head.  The  muslin  curtains 
of  a  room  on  the  first  floor  hid  the  person  to  whom 
she  signalled. 

"Who  can  it  be,  hiding  up  there?"  I  wondered, 
as  the  landlord  brought  the  tea. 

"Somebody  who  has  handsome  brown  eyes  and 
aquiline  features,  and  a  waxed  moustache,  my  dear, 
and  beautifully  cut  tweeds,"  said  Petrolina ;  "and 
Hawkins  thinks  him  a  demigod,  worthy  to  be  en- 
shrined in  the  Penny  Romancer.  Besides,  he 
pays  well,  and  that  woman  would  do  anything  for 
money.  Hoity-toity !  Here  come  our  wedding 
couple  walking  eight  feet  apart,  and  looking 
straight  before  them.  And  they  were  getting  on  so 
well.  What  can  have  clouded  the  prospect,  I 
wonder?" 

We  were  off  again,  flying  through  the  spring- 
tide landscape,  racing  the  white  fleecy  clouds 
driven  before  the  westerly  breeze.  Quaint  hamlets 
flew  by,  old  Saxon  churches  nestled  under  the 
shadow  of  prodigious  elms,  cattle  stood  knee-deep 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  231 

in  cool  streams,  golden  gorse  blazed  in  mile-long 
stretches  upon  the  blowy  hill-crests,  but  no  word 
was  exchanged  between  the  travellers.  The  Duke's 
face  was  very  calm,  the  Duchess's  cold  and  set. 
Hawkins,  in  the  back  seat,  nodded  and  dozed,  for, 
at  the  landlord's  suggestion,  a  "little  something" 
had  been  added  to  her  tea. 

"I  can't  stand  this,"  said  Petrolina. 

We  were  bowling  easily  along  a  level  stretch  of 
road.  I  felt  my  speed  decrease.  The  Duke  frowned 
a  little.  I  made  redoubled  efforts,  panted,  faltered, 
and — with  a  horrible  sense  of  impotence  paralysing 
my  driving-wheels — stopped  short. 

"Hallo!"  said  Kineddar,  sharply. 

"Oh,  my  lady,  your  Grace!"  cried  Hawkins, 
who  had  been  jerked  out  of  her  slumbers  by  my 
unpremeditated  halt.  "Oh!" 

"What  is  wrong?"  asked  the  Duchess,  in  the 
clearest,  quietest  tone,  as  Kinneddar,  who  had 
jumped  out,  looked  up  from  his  investigations. 

"Something  amiss  with  the  electric  current,  I 
am  afraid.  The  car  has  simply  stopped,  and  in  the 
most  solitary  and  inconvenient  part  of  the  road 
between  Wychmer  and  Rosehall."  The  Duke 
busied  himself  again  in  my  machinery. 

"Pop — pop — pop!"  I  burst  out,  trembling  all 
over. 

"Oh,  law!  For  mercy's  sake,  your  Grace!" 
shrieked  Hawkins,  "let  me  out  before  the  boiler 
bursts."  And  as  the  Duke,  restraining  a  smile, 


232      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

went  round,  opened  the  door,  and  gravely  lifting 
his  cap,  offered  the  alarmed  lady's  maid  the  assist- 
ance of  his  hand,  she  hopped  into  the  road  as 
wildly  as  an  agitated  fowl,  and  sat  herself  down 
on  a  green  bank  at  some  distance  in  the  rear  to 
watch  for  the  anticipated  violent  passage  of  her 
employers  to  another  world. 

"It  is  annoying,  certainly."  The  Duchess  had 
regained  her  ease  of  manner;  there  was  almost  a 
smile  upon  her  lips.  "  But  at  any  rate,  it  is  lovely 
weather  for  a  breakdown." 

"  If  I  thought  that  any  trap  or  vehicle  were  likely 
to  pass  this  way,"  Kineddar  rejoined,  "I  should 
not  mind  so  much.  You  could  go  on  with  Hawkins 
to  Rosehall." 

"While  you  stayed  behind  with  the  car?  It 
would  be  an  odd  way  of  arriving,"  said  the 
Duchess,  "considering " 

"Considering,"  continued  Kineddar,  as,  blush- 
ing, she  stopped  short,  "that  you  and  I  were  only 
married  this  morning?" 

The  Duchess  became  absorbed  in  the  landscape. 
That  strange,  frozen  stiffness  had  come  over  her 
again.  When  next  she  spoke,  it  was  in  a  tone  of 
polite  and  civil  interest. 

"You  are  making  yourself  very  tired  and  very 
hot,  I  am  afraid?" 

"  The  long  and  the  short  of  it  is  that  I  am  a  self- 
reliant  idiot,"  said  Kineddar.  "I  ought  to  have 
brought  the  chauffeur.  But  I  thought  he  would 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  233 

be  a  nuisance,  or  that  you  would  prefer  your 
maid " 

The  too-toot  of  a  motor-horn  broke  the  silence. 
Round  the  long  slanting  curve  of  the  road  dashed 
a  machine,  driven  at  the  maddest  pace  conceivable. 
The  Duke  closed  the  bonnet  of  my  engine  just  in 
time.  ...  A  gust  of  wind,  a  cyclone  of  grit  and 
small  stones,  and  the  car  passed  like  a  projectile,  and 
vanished  in  the  distance,  unheeding  Kineddar's  hail. 

"The  fellow  drives  like  a  madman,"  said 
Kineddar.  "I  wonder  who  he  was?  Impossible 
to  recognise  anyone  in  those  black  wire  goggles. 
If  he  had  had  the  decency  to  stop,  one  might  have 
— Helen,  I  am  afraid  you  are  tired.  You  are 
certainly  very  pale." 

"  I — I  thought  I  recognised  the— car,"  she  said, 
hurriedly.  Hawkins,  reposing  on  the  edge  of  the 
ditch  a  quarter  of  a  mile  behind,  had  done 
more.  .  .  .  She  had  recognised  the  driver.  But 
Kineddar  uttered  an  exclamation  of  relief. 

"Good!  ...  I  have  it  I  The  oil  doesn't  flow 
into  the  cylinder,  the  pipe  must  be  stopped  up 
with  something." 

He  worked  energetically  for  a  moment  or  two. 

"  No — it's  clear,"  he  said,  despondently.  "  And 
night  is  drawing  in,  and  you  are  tired  and  hungry." 

"  Do  you  hear  anything  coming?" 

The  Duchess  held  up  her  hand.     ' '  Wheels  ! ' ' 

It  was  a  butcher's  cart.  The  driver,  a  greasy, 
grinning  youth,  pulled  up  as  Kineddar  signalled. 


234      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

"  'Ad  a  broik-down,  hee — hee?" 

"Not  quite,"  said  the  Duke,  as  I  trembled  with 
indignation.  "We'll  call  it  a  stoppage.  Were 
you  going  anywhere  near  Rosehall?" 

"Wi'in  six  moile." 

"  Will  you  oblige  me  by  taking  a  message  to  the 
house?" 

"Noa!"  said  the  butcher,  and  jerked  the  reins. 
The  old  white  horse  jogged  on,  and  out  of  sight; 
the  Duke  and  Duchess  burst  out  laughing. 

"Fate  means  us  to  stay  here,"  said  Kineddar, 
and  with  an  apology,  pulled  off  his  coat  and 
vanished,  this  time  underneath  me.  The  shadows 
lengthened  steadily.  A  white  owl  flew  across  the 
road,  vanishing  in  the  gloom  of  the  wood  that  fringed 
it ;  the  setting  sun  reddened  the  west. 

"Any  other  woman  would  have  grumbled," 
thought  Kineddar,  looking  up  at  his  wife's  pure, 
quiet  profile,  as  she  sat,  her  hands  clasped  upon 
her  knees,  gazing  into  the  sunset.  He  gathered 
himself  up  and  knelt  upon  the  step.  As  she  sat  and 
dreamed,  so  he  knelt  and  dreamed — and  longed — 
for  something  sweeter  than  that  promised  duty  and 
respect.  ...  A  little  breeze  blew  a  fold  of  her 
long  light  silk  veil  across  his  lips.  .  .  .  He  kissed 
it — and  she  saw  him,  and  blushed  as  crimson  as 
the  glowing  west. 

"  I — beg  your  pardon  !"  he  said. 

"  Oh — why  ?  I  did  not "  she  was  beginning, 

when  he  stopped  her  with  a  shout. 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  235 

"I  have  it.     Hurrah,  Helen!     Airbound!" 

"  I  whispered  that  in  his  ear,  my  dear,"  said 
Petrol  ina. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  am  dreadfully  stupid,  but  what 
is  'airbound'  ?"  asked  Duchess  Helen. 

'*  Lend  me  a  hairpin,  my  dear,  and  you  will  see." 
His  tone  was  boyishly,  oddly  triumphant.  And  it 
was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  called  her  "  my  dear." 
She  pulled  off  her  gloves  and  put  her  white  hands 
up  to  the  wealth  of  coils  that  crowned  her.  But 
the  hands  were  unsteady. 

"Absurd  ...  I  can't  .  .  .  please  take  one!" 
she  said,  biting  her  lip.  "Never  mind  your 
hands." 

Her  bosom  heaved  at  his  touch — the  touch  of 
the  husband  with  whom  she  was  to  live  on  terms  of 
duty  and  respect.  Against  his  sternest  principles 
Kineddar  brushed  her  perfumed  hair  with  his  lips, 
as  he  gingerly  lifted  the  veil  and  stole  the  required 
implement. 

"Hurrah!"  he  cried,  a  moment  later,  then  re- 
sumed the  driver's  seat. 

"What  was  wrong,  after  all?"  asked  Duchess 
Helen,  as  I  moved  smoothly  on. 

"The  air  vent  was  stopped  with  a  piece  of  grit. 
I  cleared  the  hole  with  a  prod  of  your  hairpin, 
and " 

The  Duke  increased  the  speed,  I  answered  to  the 
call.  Trees  and  hedges  went  smoothly  by;  the 
red-gold  sky  rolled  up  to  meet  us.  Bats  swooped  by 


236      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

in  the  twilight,  and  robins,  equally  intent  on 
hawking  midges ;  the  perfume  of  the  hawthorn,  the 
wild-cherry  blossom,  and  the  gorse  was  combined 
with  the  scent  of  primroses  and  blue  hyacinths  in 
one  heavy,  delicious  extract  of  Spring.  The  two 
people  on  the  front  seat  inhaled  it  with  swimming 
senses,  their  hearts  beat,  they  leaned  towards  one 
another,  as  though  invisible  bonds  drew  them. 
They  spoke  little,  but  each  was  keenly  conscious  of 
the  other's  presence,  and  so  the  miles  spun  happily 
from  my  wheels.  The  sunset  had  faded  to  deep 
apricot,  a  pale-tinted  moon  hung  in  a  sea  of  trans- 
lucent green  as  Rosehall  showed  across  a  sunk 
wall  of  mellow  old  brick  and  a  rich  foreground  of 
meadows,  fragrant  with  innumerable  cowslips,  girt 
with  orchards  in  the  bridal  robes  of  May.  Every 
one  of  the  mullioned  windows  of  the  ancient  Tudor 
house  shone  welcome,  the  hall-door  showed  a  square 
of  mellow  fire  and  candle-light,  the  lodge-gates 
stood  open,  with  villagers  about  them ;  a  shout 
went  up  as  I  dashed  into  the  wide  avenue,  coursed 
between  ranks  of  antique,  over-shadowing  chest- 
nuts, and  stopped  before  the  great  south  front  that 
daylight  was  to  show  one  mass  of  climbing  roses. 
Before  the  expectant  servants  could  hurry  down  the 
steps,  the  Duke  sprang  to  the  ground  and  extended 
his  hand. 

;<  Welcome  to  my  wife!"  was  all  he  said;  but 
his  voice  trembled  in  saying  it,  and  their  hands 
were  unsteady  when  they  met.  The  Duchess 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  237 

stumbled  in  her  furs  on  alighting,  so  that  for  one 
instant  her  husband  supported  her  upon  his  heart. 
Then  they  passed  in  another  between  ranks  of 
bowing  servants,  and  even  as  she  gave  the  ancient 
housekeeper  her  hand,  the  Duchess  did  not  re- 
member what  had  been  left  behind  upon  the  road. 

"  Her  Grace  is  tired — she  will  go  to  her  rooms, 
and  dinner  can  be  served  in  half  an  hour,"  the 
Duke  said,  and  Duchess  Helen  was  guided  to  the 
exquisite  suite  that  had  belonged  to  the  ladies  of 
Rosehall  for  centuries  past. 

"And  that's  how  it  ended,"  Petrolina  told  me 
afterwards.  "  She  had  hardly  glanced  at  the  carved 
oak  fireplace,  tapestried  walls,  and  diapered  rafters, 
hardly  noted  the  roses  heaping  the  bowls  and  vases 
of  ancient  Oriental  ware,  or  appreciated  the  mixture 
of  modern  luxury  and  old-world  elegance  that 
appealed  so  subtly  to  the  sense  of  beauty  and  the 
sense  of  comfort,  when,  in  answer  to  the  house- 
keeper's interrogation— 

"And  her  Grace's  maid?"  the  Duchess  gave 
no  answer  except  an  exclamation  of  dismay. 
"  Kineddar  !  Philip!  we  have  forgotten  Hawkins 
— we  have  left  her  sitting  by  the  road.  What  can 
have  become  of  her  ? — she  must  be  sent  for  immedi- 
ately— how  could  I  be  so  inconsiderate — so  un- 
kind?" 

A  moment  later  she  was  in  the  gallery,  panelled 
with  polished  oak,  and  shining  trophies  of  arms. 
The  Duke  stood  at  a  window,  his  back  to  her,  his 


238      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

head  bent — not  looking  at  the  deer  couching  in 
the  bracken  under  the  great  oaks  of  the  park,  or 
at  the  last  flag  of  day  streaming  in  the  west,  but  at 
some  small  object  lying  in  his  open  palm.  As  the 
Duchess  noiselessly  approached  him  from  behind, 
he  bent  his  head  and  kissed  the  thing  he  cherished. 
She  saw  that  it  was  her  hairpin,  and  her  heart 
swelled  to  bursting  with  repentance  and  newly- 
awakened  love.  "So  good,  so  generous,  so  kind, 
so  noble!"  were  the  epithets  she  mentally  applied 
to  her  husband.  "  And  he  loves  me — he  loves  me," 
she  added,  mentally.  He  swam  before  her  tear- 
filled  eyes,  and  when  he  turned  he  saw  the  tears  in 
them,  and  held  out  his  arms.  "They  were  only 
empty  for  three  seconds,"  said  Petrolina,  "I  am 
glad  to  say." 

"  And  Hawkins  ?"  I  asked. 

"  They  have  sent  a  dog-cart  for  Hawkins — with 
apologies  and  warm  wraps.  To-morrow,  when  the 
Duchess  finds  that  letter  on  her  dressing-table,  she 
will  be  dismissed,"  said  the  Spirit,  with  a  little 
triumphant  giggle.  "As  for  the  man  who  wrote 
it,  he  will  wait  in  the  pergola  until  he  feels  it  is  no 
use  waiting  any  longer.  Then  he  will  sneak  away, 
take  his  car  back  to  London,  and  probably  marry 
the  brewer's  widow.  Thus,  you  see,  how  great  ends 
are  brought  about  by  little  things.  By  simply 
letting  a  bit  of  grit  get  into  your  air-valve,  I  have 
brought  about  a  happy  understanding  between  two 
people,  who  might,  but  for  that  delay  upon  the 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  239 

road,  have  been  parted  and  unhappy  for  ever  after. 
To  say  nothing  of  getting  Hawkins  left  in  a  dry 
ditch.  I  rather  plume  myself  upon  that,"  said 
Petrolina. 

"And  that  was  the  end  of  my  first  adventure," 
said  the  Automobile. 

III. 

From  the  Duchess  of  Kineddar  and  Stronghold- 
ness,  I  passed,  by  gift,  into  the  hands  of  a  dignitary 
of  the  Established  Faith — no  less  a  personage  than 
the  Bishop  of  Baverfield,  a  Broad  and  Low  Church 
divine,  who,  nephew  himself  of  a  baron  by  the 
female  side,  had  married  an  aunt  of  her  Grace.  The 
Right  Reverend  Ebenezer  Grubble,  D.D.,  was  not 
a  fatally  opulent  Bishop ;  the  see  was  small,  the 
official  income  appertaining  but  .£3,000,  and  his 
family,  consisting  principally  of  daughters,  would 
have  done  honour  to  a  country  curate  on  a  stipend 
of  sixty  pounds. 

"Therefore,"  said  Mrs.  Grubble,  standing  over 
me  in  the  converted  coach-house  at  Baverfield  Place, 
*'  I  am  obliged  to  Helen.  She  took  my  hint  grace- 
fully, that  I  will  say,  when  I  told  her  of  the  number 
of  claims  upon  you,  and  the  expense  to  which  you 
will  be  put  over  this  pastoral  visitation.  Now,  at 
any  rate,  we  shall  be  saved  carriage-hire  and  train 
fares;  and  who  shall  condemn  the  automobile  in 
future,  seeing  that  it  will  have  received,  in  a  way 
of  speaking,  the  sanction  of  the  Church  ?" 


24o      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

11  But,  my  dear,"  said  the  Bishop  mildly,  "  I  do 
not  know  how  to  drive  an  automobile." 

"Then,  Ebenezer,  you  must  learn,"  said  the 
Bishop's  wife. 

She  was  a  large  woman,  and  Dr.  Grubble,  after 
one  rebellious  glance,  gave  in.  "Very  well,  my 
dear,"  he  said  meekly.  "I  suppose  a  competent 
instructor  can  be  easily  obtained.  ...  It  is  a  pity 
that  Stobax  is  no  longer  with  us.  He  was,  as  doubt- 
less you  know,  an  accomplished  chauffeur." 

Mrs.  Grubble's  brow  darkened  as  the  Bishop 
breathed  the  tabooed  name  of  a  once-trusted 
domestic  chaplain  and  secretary,  who  had  basely 
betrayed  the  Bishop's  confidence  by  falling  in  love 
with  his  eldest  daughter,  Gertrude,  and  inducing 
that  high-spirited  and  stubborn  girl  to  reciprocate 
his  passion.  When  the  crash  came  Gertrude  had 
been  hastily  despatched  to  an  aunt  at  Scarborough, 
and  the  Rev.  Stobax  had  been  relegated  to  a  living 
in  the  diocese.  The  rectory  of  St.  Gronwold's  was 
a  charming  house,  the  income  five  hundred  a  year, 
the  grey  square-towered  Anglo-Norman  church,  a 
gem  of  its  kind,  equally  interesting  to  antiquary  or 
artist.  The  Rev.  Ransom  Stobax  had  not  come 
off  so  badly.  But  he  had  had  reason  to  expect  a 
residential  canonry  and  chancellorship  combined, 
which  would  have  brought  in  at  least  eight  hundred 
per  annum,  and  he  had  confidently  looked  forward  to 
a  future  day  when  his  wife  should  admire  him  in 
a  dean's  shovel-hat  and  gaiters.  Therefore,  when 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  241 

indued  with  the  rectory  of  St.  Gronwold's,  Mr. 
Stobax  no  longer  restrained  those  High  Church 
tendencies  which,  allowed  to  develop  under  the 
shadow  of  the  square  Anglo-Norman  tower,  had 
made  him  a  thorn  in  the  side  of  the  Bishop,  and  the 
Bishop's  wife,  for  the  last  twelvemonth. 

"That  man!"  Mrs.  Grubble  moaned  —  "that 
man!" 

The  Bishop,  whose  paternal  relation  to  Noncon- 
formity was  not  the  smallest  jewel  in  his  mitre, 
looked  pained.  He  had  that  morning  received  an 
address  of  expostulation  from  the  Protestant  Coali- 
tion urging  him  to  take  steps  to  purge  the  diocese 
of  the  "spreading  gangrene"  of  Anglicanism,  and 
indicating  as  the  first  necessary  step  the  suspension 
of  the  Rector  of  St.  Gronwold's. 

"That  man  who  has  betrayed  and  defied  you! 
That  man  who  preaches  in  a  '  cassock  '  and  cele- 
brates in  a  '  cope  ' — who  advocates  the  use  of  flowers 
and  incense — who  has  instituted  a  confessional  in 
the  vestry,  and  compels  the  choir  to  walk  in  proces- 
sion before  him  round  the  church  on  Sunday  even- 
ings, singing !  Horrible!" 

"  I  know  it,  I  know  it !"  said  the  Bishop.  "  Pain- 
ful, most  painful,  when  one  reflects  that  Stobax 
spent  four  years  under  our  roof,  and  may  reason- 
ably be  supposed  to  have  imbibed  his  opinions  from 
our  teaching."  The  Bishop  meditated. 

"He  must  be  made  an  example  of,"  said  Mrs. 
Grubble,  forcibly.  "And  he  shall  be.  Gertrude 

16 


242   EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

returns  to-morrow  from  Scarborough.  Your  sister 
informs  me  that  she  appears  repentant  and  subdued 
— quite  reformed,  in  fact." 

"Let  us  hope  that  she  is!"  said  the  Bishop, 
wearily.  Gertrude  had  her  mother's  spirit;  and 
Dr.  Grubble  had  small  faith  in  the  permanency  of 
the  transformation.  In  thirty  years  he  had  never 
once  been  able  to  subdue  Mrs.  Grubble. 

She  had  her  way  now  as  ever,  that  indomitable 
woman,  and  the  Bishop  took  lessons  in  automobile 
management.  He  was  a  timid  driver ;  but  a  bishop 
on  a  pastoral  visitation  does  not  require  to  travel 
at  the  rate  of  forty  miles  an  hour,  and  the  diocese 
was  a  small  one.  He  caused  a  local  agent  to  over- 
haul me,  and,  greatly  to  the  disgust  of  the  Spirit 
Petrolina,  I  was  sent  to  a  firm  of  motor  manu- 
facturers for  improvements  and  repairs. 

"Which  you  don't  require,  my  dear!"  said 
Petrolina.  "  A  new  coat  of  paint  and  varnish,  a 
•thorough  overhauling — well  and  good  !  But  pneu- 
matic tyres  are  a  mistake  where  you  are  concerned, 
and  will  bring  their  own  troubles — to  say  nothing 
of  the  bill  the  Bishop  will  have  to  pay." 

The  Bishop  did  indeed  groan  as  he  got  out  his 
•cheque-book ;  but  upon  his  wife  representing  that 
no  further  expenditure  would  be  involved,  he  signed 
his  name  with  very  fair  grace.  Upon  a  fair  day  in 
early  September  the  party  left  the  Palace,  the  Bishop 
in  the  driving-seat,  Mrs.  Grubble  enthroned  beside 
him,  his  chaplain-secretary  and  the  once  rebellious 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  243 

Gertrude,  with  the  luggage,  in  the  back  seat.  The 
chauffeur,  with  whose  presence  the  Bishop  was  un- 
willing to  dispense,  was  in  attendance  on  a  motor- 
bicycle.  The  Bishop  would  have  preferred  him 
closer  at  hand,  in  case  of  need. 

"  But  neither  Gertrude  nor  Mr.  Piggelle  can 
ride  a  motor-cycle,"  said  Mrs.  Grubble,  forcibly, 
upon  the  Bishop's  giving  utterance  to  the  preference 
indicated  above.  "And  supposing  either  of  them 
could,  it  would  be  unfitting  that  they  should  do  so. 
As  for  me,  I  do  not  and  cannot  suppose  that  you 
would  wish  me  to  make  a  public  exhibition  of  my- 
self." 

"No,  my  dear — no!"  The  hastily-conjured-up 
mental  image  of  Mrs.  Grubble  on  a  motor-bicycle 
made  the  Bishop's  hand  shake  as  he  grasped  the 
driving-wheel.  "Are  we  quite  ready?"  he  asked, 
nervously. 

"In  a  moment,"  said  Mrs.  Grubble,  and  gave 
the  signal  for  which  the  local  photographer,  with 
his  attendant  young  man,  had  anxiously  been  wait- 
ing. The  shutter  snapped,  the  Chaplain  sneezed, 
the  party  had  been  taken,  and  I  moved  upon  my 
way. 

"How  unfortunate,  Mr.  Piggelle!"  said  the 
Bishop's  wife  over  her  shoulder,  referring  to  the 
Chaplain's  unlucky  sternutation.  And,  indeed,  in 
the  negative  the  reverend  gentleman  made  a  most 
unfortunate  appearance,  portions  of  his  head  being- 
represented  as  flying  all  over  the  place.  Piggelle 


244      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

mumbled  apologies,  his  face  as  scarlet  as  his  hair, 
Gertrude  laughed  mischievously,  and  I  glided 
smoothly  down  the  avenue  and  out  at  the  lodge 
gates,  where  the  keeper's  wife  dropped  a  reverent 
double-barrelled  curtsey  in  response  to  the  Bishop's 
smile  and  his  wife's  nod. 

*'  Mrs.  Grubble  feels  at  peace  with  all  the  world, 
except  one  Anglican  parson,"  whispered  Petrolina. 
"  How  well  she  would  look  in  a  mitre  with  an  epis- 
copal staff,  wouldn't  she?  Her  bonnet  is  the  shape 
of  the  one,  and  her  umbrella-handle  suggests  the 
other.  In  that  tin  bonnet-box  which  she  has  tied 
on  to  the  back  of  Thompson's  bicycle  she  has  an 
evening  dress  bodice  with  lawn  sleeves  which  really 
were  a  pair  of  the  Bishop's.  I  believe  she  would 
think  it  quite  natural  to  hold  a  Confirmation  or  to  sit 
in  her  husband's  place  in  the  Upper  House.  Such 
an  embodiment  of  arrogance  as  that  woman  should 
be  taken  down,  and  shall,  mark  my  words,  my  dear  ! 
For  how  can  a  Bishop  look  after  the  souls  of  other 
people  when  his  wife  won't  let  him  call  his  his 
own?" 

With  which  pithy  remark  the  fairy  subsided  into 
silence,  and  I  pursued  my  way  through  my  right 
reverend  driver's  diocese  on  the  new  pneumatic 
tyres,  the  substitution  of  which  for  the  solid  had 
given  Petrolina  such  vexation.  The  visitation  was 
to  occupy  the  space  of  a  fortnight,  and  for  the  next 
week  the  Bishop  found  plenty  to  do.  He  took  the 
chair  at  clerical  meetings,  he  inspected  churches, 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  245 

almshouses,  and  schools,  he  ordained  one  curate, 
suspended  another  (overcome  by  cowslip  wine 
administered  by  a  too  hospitable  farmer's  wife  upon 
a  day  of  excessive  dryness),  consecrated  a  newly- 
built  sacred  edifice,  and  preached  in  it  afterwards. 
And  wherever  he  went,  aided  and  abetted  by  Mrs. 
Grubble,  he  kept  a  sharp  look-out  to  detect  and 
extirpate  what  he  had  termed  in  a  powerful  pamph- 
let, "  the  poisonous  weed  of  Anglicanism." 

"  It  may  be  said,  my  lord,  to  flourish  only  on  the 
borders  of  your  diocese,"  said  the  Rural  Dean. 
St.  Gronwold's  was  clearly  meant,  and  the  Bishop, 
reposing  in  an  easy-chair  at  the  Deanery  after  a  long 
and  arduous  day,  folded  his  well-kept  hands  upon 
his  apron  and  shook  his  head  slightly,  as  he  raised 
his  glass  of  rare  old  port  to  his  appreciative  lips. 
The  Dean,  the  Bishop  and  his  secretary  were  sole 
occupants  of  the  Deanery  dining-room,  its  table 
strewn  with  relics  of  an  excellent  dessert.  The  Dean, 
a  lean,  angular,  white-haired  old  man,  with  a 
spiritual,  ascetic  face,  peeled  hothouse  peaches  with 
scientific  care — the  Bishop  was  fond  of  peaches.  The 
Secretary,  with  the  regularity  of  a  machine,  cracked 
new  filberts — the  Bishop  loved  filberts — disposing 
the  succulent  kernels  in  neatly-drilled  rows  upon  the 
satin  damask  table-cloth  at  his  Lordship's  left  hand. 
From  the  drawing-room  came  the  sound  of  Mrs. 
Grubble's  eloquence,  softened  by  distance,  as  she 
harangued  the  Dean's  wife  and  daughters  on  the 
subject  of  Evangelism  in  the  servants'  hall. 


246      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

"  One  more — only  one  more,  my  dear  Dean,  or  I 
shall  suffer  for  your  hospitality,  I  fear.  Piggelle — 
I  entreat  you  I"  the  Bishop  said.  He  accepted  a 
Havana,  and  his  scruples  on  the  subject  of  a  liqueur 
were  gradually  overcome. 

"  Genuine  Chartreuse,"  said  the  Dean,  playfully. 
"At  Stobax's  convent — the  Sisterhood — new  black 
currant  wine,  I  understand." 

The  Bishop  turned  circular  eyes  upon  the  speaker. 

"Stobax's ?" 

"  Havn't  you  heard  the  latest  ?" 

"  I  have  heard  of  Popish  practices,  of  Ritualistic 
exercises  which  caused  me  the  deepest  sorrow. 
Candles  and  Compline,  genuflections  and  flowers, 
vestments  and  incense — quite  sufficient." 

"Nothing  of  an  Anglican  community  of  nuns, 
the  Sixty  Sisters  of  the  Scapular,  settled  in  the 
vicinity  of  St.  Gronwold's  within  the  last  few 
months  ?  They  have  taken  a  fine  old  house — very 
good  grounds  and  gardens — within  a  mile  of  the 
rectory;  and  Stobax — unless  I  am  misinformed — 
officiates  as  chaplain,  and,  I  suppose,  spiritual 
director." 

"  Merciful  powers  !    And  that  man  was  nourished 

in  my " — the  Bishop  about  to  say  "bosom," 

changed  it  for  "house" — "for  years!  He  even 
aspired  to  become  a  member  of  my  family.  From 
what  has  my  child  been  saved  1  Chaplain  to  an 
Anglican  sisterhood — can  anything  more  deplor- 
able, more  mournful,  be  conceived  !  But  I  will 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  247 

extirpate  this  cancerous  spot."  The  Bishop  clenched 
his  soft,  plump  fist  and  smote  the  table  carefully. 
"  I  will  nullify — sterilise — abolish  this  crying  evil  I 
I  will " 

"  You  can  suspend  Stobax,  I  believe,  if  he  prove 
obstinate,"  said  the  Dean,  with  a  twinkle ;  "  but  then 
he  can  appeal  ...  to  three  superior  tribunals,  as 
we  know,  in  the  Court  of  Arches,  the  Chancery, 
and  the  Privy  Council.  English  law  protects  the 
inferior  clergy  very  effectually  from  any — ahem  ! — 
excess  of  zeal  on  the  part  of  their  spiritual  superiors. 
As  regards  the  Sisterhood,  I  do  not  see  what  steps- 
can  be  taken." 

"I  must  reflect — I  must  ponder — upon  what  is 
best  to  be  done,"  said  the  agitated  Bishop.  "Say 
nothing  to  Mrs.  Grubble,  I  beseech  you,  my  dear 
Dean  ;  it  would  ruin  her  night's  rest." 

The  Dean  promised,  but  the  treacherous  Piggelle 
blabbed,  and  the  Bishop  owned  to  a  headache  when 
we  started  in  the  morning. 

"And  Gertrude  has  red  eyes,"  said  Petrolina. 
"  That  woman  has  been  nagging  the  girl  to  despera- 
tion. She  is  fond  of  the  Reverend  Ransom  Stobax,. 
and  Stobax  is  a  good  fellow  and  loves  her,  and  if 
she  marries  him  will  make  her  a  happy  wife.  And 
marry  him  she  shall,  if  I  can  bring  it  about ;  so  look 
out  for  squalls,  my  dear." 

Her  tone  made  me  vaguely  nervous.  But  I  had 
been  well  oiled  and  capitally  cleaned,  and  the  Bishop 
drove — figuratively — "  to  the  cemetery."  Amorede- 


248      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

press!  ngly  careful  steersman  than  the  good  prelate 
never  guided  an  automobile.  Yet  I  fancied  I  had  a 
pain,  a  slight  pricking  sensation  in  the  mechanism 
controlling  my  right-hand  guiding-wheel.  • 

' '  Nonsense  ! ' '  said  Petrolina,  to  whom  I  mentioned 
this.     "It's  in  your  back  tyres,  that  take  all  the 
driving  strain,  you  ought  to  feel  it — if  you  feel  any- 
thing at  all.     You  slept  like  a  top  last  night  in  the 
Deanery  coach-house,   while  I   roamed  about  the 
house.    To  ascend  to  the  windows  of  a  second-floor 
spare  bedroom  is  not  much  to  a  spirit  who  has 
guided  an  airship.  .  .  .     Gertrude's  light  burned 
late — she  had  a  letter  of  eight  pages  to  read,  and 
read  it  several  times.    From  the  Reverend  Ransom 
Stobax,  and  very  well  guessed.     He  knew,  he  said, 
that  there  was  no  ordinary  hope  of  a  reasonable 
reconciliation  between  a  clergyman  who  avows  him- 
self an  Anglican,  and  a  bishop  who  calls  Anglicans 
Ritualists.     He  was  quite  aware  that  steps  would  be 
taken  to  deprive  him,   if  possible,  of  his  rectory. 
He  trusted  that  even  if  he  lost  that  he  might  not 
lose  his  love  as  well — unless  Gertrude  feared  to  be 
the  wife  of  a  poor  man,  in  which  case  he  would  feel 
it  his  duty  to  release  her.     I  like  that  young  man, 
though  he  was  a  chaplain  and  put  up  with  Mrs. 
Grubble's    imperious    airs    for    the    sake    of    her 
daughter's  pretty  face.     It  is  time  that  she-bishop, 
that  feminine  prelate,   self-constituted  vicaress  of 
souls  in  Blankshire,  was  taken  down  a  peg.     I  have 
made  up  my  mind  to  do  it,  and  I  think  I  see  how  it 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  249 

can  be  done.  We  are  now  in  Stobax's  parish,  about 
a  mile  from  St.  Gronwold's.  Pretty  landscape,  isn't 
it  ?  The  rectory  kitchen  and  church  date  from  1 123. 
Norman  fonts,  Anglo-Saxon  stones  and  sundial, 
effigies  of  ecclesiastics  and  warriors.  But  what  do 
you  care  for  antiquities?  Though  this  high  wall 
on  our  left-hand  encloses  an  interesting  old  park, 
and  the  old  stone  gatehouse  we're  about  to  pass 
leads  to  a  remarkably  well-preserved  example  of  an 
ancient  English  manor-house,  you  really " 

Just  as  we  passed  the  gatehouse  the  road  dipped 
in  a  steep  down-gradient.  Suddenly — I  know  not 
why — I  violently  swerved.  The  Bishop  was  shot 
from  his  seat,  landing  elastically  on  his  back  in  the 
middle  of  the  dusty  highway.  Cutting  a  deep  curved 
furrow  in  the  hedgerow  bank,  I  righted  by  a  miracle, 
and  continued  my  race  unguided,  freighted  with 
three  passengers  who  were  ignorant  of  the  uses  of 
the  brake. 

"Help!  —  oh,  mercy,  help!"  groaned  the 
Bishop's  lady.  But  the  chauffeur,  ordered  to 
ride  a  quarter  of  a  mile  ahead,  because  of  the 
dust,  was  out  of  sight  and  hearing.  Piggelle 
cowered  in  the  bottom  of  my  car.  Gertrude 
said  no  more,  but  her  terrified  eyes,  rolling 
backwards  to  the  scene  of  the  catastrophe,  recog- 
nised a  familiar  figure — the  figure,  in  fact,  of  a 
youngish  clergyman  on  a  bicycle,  riding  frantically 
in  pursuit,  shouting,  "Put  on  the  brakes,  for 
Heaven's  sake  !  The  left  pedal— the  left  pedal !" 


250      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

The  familiar,  much-loved  voice  of  the  Reverend 
Ransom  Stobax  stimulated  the  brain  and  urged  the 
muscles  of  the  frightened  girl  to  instant,  decisive 
action.  She  clambered  over  into  the  front  seat, 
using  the  grovelling  chaplain  as  a  stepping-block, 
and  did  as  her  lover  bade.  I  stopped  so  suddenly 
as  to  dash  the  nose  of  Mr.  Piggelle  against  the  back 
of  the  front  seat.  The  chaplain  bled,  the  ladies 
wept.  Ransom  Stobax  coming  up,  very  hot,  was 
hailed  as  a  deliverer.  .  .  .  Gertrude's  eyes  spoke 
volumes. 

Mrs.  Grubble  grasped  him  by  the  coat-sleeve  as 
she  cried  :  "My  husband?  Tell  me  the  worst — at 
once  1" 

"The  porter  and  his  wife  are  attending  to  the 
Bishop,"  said  the  Reverend  Ransom  Stobax.  "  He 
is,  I  trust,  not  seriously  injured.  Let  us  drive  back 
and  ascertain." 

Scrapes  and  abrasions  made  up  the  sum  of  the 
Bishop's  injuries.  They  were  treated  by  the  local 
medical  man,  who  fortuitously  drove  by  in  his  dog- 
cart. 

"A  severe  shaking,"  he  said,  as  the  Bishop 
'ugh'ed  and  ah'ed.  "  Arnica  and  lint,  a  composing 
draught,  and  three  days  in  bed  are  what  I  should 
recommend." 

"  Precautions  which  I  cannot  but  feel  necessary," 
said  the  Bishop.  He  extended  three  fingers  to  the 
Reverend  Ransom  Stobax  as  he  thanked  him  for 
his  timely  aid.  One  cannot  embrace  a  deliverer  in 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  251 

an  inferior  whom  one  means  to  suspend.  "  Under 
more  fortuitous  circumstances,  Mr.  Stobax,  I  should 
have  asked  you  to  extend  to  me,  to  Mrs.  Grubble, 
and  my  daughter,  the  hospitality  of  the  Rectory  roof. 
Things  being  as — regrettably — they  are,  I  may  only 
solicit  you  to  recommend  me  to  the  most  respectable 
inn  the  neighbourhood  affords." 

"There  is  not  an  inn  within  ten  miles,"  said 
Stobax,  very  stiff  and  erect. 

"Then  what  are  we  to  do?"  said  the  Bishop. 
"  What  in  mercy  are  we  to  do  ?  My  pains  increase 
— my  bones  stiffen — I  can  with  difficulty  rise  from 
my  chair."  He  groaned,  and  the  doctor  turned 
twinkling  eyes  from  his  Lordship  to  the  Reverend 
Ransom  Stobax,  and  rubbed  his  chin,  saying  : 

"They  take  boarders  here,  and  the  rooms  are 
uncommonly  comfortable — the  cooking  quite  capital 
in  its  way." 

"Why  not "  began  Mrs.  Grubble,  but  the 

porter's  wife  shook  her  head. 

"  Only  lady-boarders,"  she  said. 

The  Bishop  groaned.  Mrs.  Grubble  turned  indig- 
nantly upon  the  porter's  wife. 

"  Do  you  understand,  my  good  woman,  that  this 
suffering  gentleman  is  the  Bishop  of  Baverfield?" 

The  porter's  wife  blushed  and  curtsied,  but  held 
firm.  Mrs.  Grubble  was  scathing  in  her  indignation. 
Merciful  powers  !  Was  not  a  Bishop — her  Bishop — 
equal  to  a  dozen  lady-boarders?  If  you  cannot 
admit  a  Bishop  to  a  dove-cote  of  lady-boarders, 


252      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

whom  can  you  admit,  i.n  the  twin  names  of  Propriety 
and  Virtue? 

Then,  with  a  queer  look  at  the  Bishop,  the 
Reverend  Ransom  Stobax  made  a  suggestion. 

"  I  would  advise  Mrs.  Grubble,  in  the  present 
emergency,  to  apply  to  the  Superior — I  would  say 
— to  send  a  message,  explaining  the  situation — to 
the  lady  of  the  house." 

"  I  will  write  it  on  my  card — no,  on  the  Bishop's 
card,"  said  Mrs.  Grubble. 

The  card  was  sent  by  the  porter's  wife  to  the  lady 
of  the  house.  The  lady  of  the  house  sent  back  a 
verbal  message  intimating  that  the  august  invalid 
and  his  family  and  his  chaplain  were  welcome. 
Accommodation  could  also  be  extended  to  their 
vehicle,  the  chauffeur  alone  was  left  roofless.  The 
Rector  of  St.  Gronwold's  told  the  mechanic  of  an 
address  in  the  village  where  he  might  obtain  a 
furnished  attic,  and  with  a  comprehensive  bow,  and 
a  rapid  interchange  of  eyes  with  Gertrude,  took 
leave, 

*'  It  is  so  odd,"  said  Gertrude,  meeting  him 
accidentally  next  morning  about  half  a  mile  down 
the  road,  "but  we  haven't  yet  seen  the  landlady  of 
our  boarding-house.  We  have  a  suite  of  cool,  comfort- 
able rooms  overlooking  the  courtyard,  the  beds  are 
extremely  clean,  and  the  cooking  excellent.  Papa  is 
everso  much  easier,  but  Mamma  is  miserable.  We  are 
not  allowed  to  walk  in  the  gardens  at  the  back  of 
the  house,  we  are  waited  upon  by  the  porter's  wife, 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  253 

and  mamma  feels,  she  says,  that  there  is  some 
mystery.  You  know  how  determined  she  is.  Well, 
she  has  made  up  her  mind  to  probe  things  to  the 
bottom,  and  she  will." 

Mrs.  Grubble  kept  her  word.  When,  ghastly 
pale,  and  almost  incapable  of  speech,  she  tottered 
into  the  Bishop's  apartment,  upon  the  morning  of 
the  third  day,  the  mystery  was  a  mystery  no  longer. 

"  Ebenezer  ! — Husband! — Bishop!"  she  cried, 
"  I  have  terrible  news  to  break  !" 

"  Dear  me  ! — my  dear,"  said  the  Bishop,  sipping 
at  a  bowl  of  nourishing  chicken  broth.  But,  figur- 
atively, Mrs.  Grubble  dashed  it  from  the  good  man's 
lips. 

"We  are  not — I  have  discovered  all — we  are 
not  in  a  boarding-house,"  groaned  she.  "We  are 

IN  A  CONVENT ! ' ' 

"Mamma,  you  have  been  spying  !"said  Gertrude, 
as  the  Bishop,  pale  and  horror-stricken,  tottered  to 
his  feet. 

"  I  concealed  myself  at  a  window  in  a  back 
passage,  from  whence  a  view  of  the  gardens  could 
be  obtained,"  groaned  Mrs.  Grubble.  "  They  were 
taking  exercise  there — a  dozen  of  them — not  lady- 
boarders,  but  NUNS  !  Protestant  nuns — Anglican 
sisters — the  community  of  which  that  wretched, 
wicked  Mr.  Stobax  is  the  father  and  the  protector. 
The  plot  is  now  laid  bare,  Bishop — you  are  the 
victim  of  a  conspiracy.  In  plain  words,  you  have 
been  trapped !" 


254      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

"  I  will  not  listen  to  such  an  accusation  !"  burst 
out  Gertrude.  "  Papa,  be  just.  What  had  Mr. 
Stobax  to  do  with  the  accident  to  our  automobile  ? 
Nothing  !  It  was  mamma  who  forced  herself  in 
here,  uninvited.  If  you  are  in  a  mess,  it  is  she  who 
has  got  you  into  it." 

"  Undutiful,  impertinent  girl!"  screamed  the 
Bishop's  wife.  The  Bishop,  very  pale  and  flabby, 
stared  into  vacancy.  He  saw,  he  read,  with 
prophetic  eye,  the  scathing  paragraphs  in  the  Low 
Church  papers,  the  approving  utterances  in  the 
High  Church  ones. 

"  The  Bishop  of  Baverfield,"  he  murmured,  "  has 
just  returned  from  a  pastoral  visitation  throughout 
his  diocese.  The  Convent  of  the  Sixty  Sisters  of 
the  Scapular,  situated  within  a  mile  of  the  Rectory 
of  St.  Gron wold's,  enjoyed  the  privilege  of  afford- 
ing hospitality  to  his  Lordship." 

But  the  Bishop  was  a  gentleman.  When  his  wife 
called  upon  him  to  shake  the  dust  from  his  conse- 
crated feet  and  quit  the  convent  that  instant,  he 
said  :  "With  infinite  relief,  my  dear,  when  I  have 
thanked  the  Superior  for  her  kindly  hospitality,  and 
discharged  my  pecuniary  liabilities  to  the  establish- 
ment." 

"They  will  take  nothing — they  have  refused  the 
bank-note  I  offered — almost  rudely,"  screamed  Mrs. 
Grubble. 

"  I  fear,  my  dear,  it  was  rudely  tendered,"  said 
the  Bishop,  with  firmness.  "  Gertrude,  my  dear, 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  255 

your  arm.  I  will  seek  out  our — arah  —  hostess 
myself,  and " 

He  quitted  the  room  on  his  daughter's  arm. 

"There  is  only  one  thing  to  be  done,"  said  Mrs. 
Grubble.  "This  must  be  hushed  up.  Mr.  Stobax 

must  be  sent  for — confided  in — conciliated,  and 

Yes,  there  is  nothing  else  for  it,  he  must  marry 
Gertrude,  even  if  it  breaks  my  heart  1" 

"Well,  my  dear,  didn't  I  tell  you  I  intended  to 
put  things  right  for  our  friend  the  Reverend  Ransom 
Stobax?"  jeered  Petrolina,  as  we  started  on  the 
homeward  journey,  the  Bishop  and  the  chauffeur 
in  front,  the  happy  lovers  smiling  in  the  back  seats. 
"  Old  Mother  Grubble  has  gone  back  by  train  with 
the  red-headed  Piggelle.  He  has  a  little  surprise 
for  her  —  a  declaration  of  love  for  her  second 
daughter,  and  a  request  for  the  residential  canonry 
with  the  vacant  chancellorship.  And  he  will  get 
the  canonry — and  the  chancellorship — or  peach.  It 
is  odd,  my  dear,  how  in  this  world  the  ugliest  and 
biggest  mouths  catch  all  the  plums  that  tumble  when 

somebody  else  has  shaken  the  tree  !" 

» 

IV. 

The  Bishop  of  Baverfield  never  made  another 
pastoral  visitation  by  means  of  me.  As  I  had 
originally  been  a  loan,  and  not  a  gift,  I  was  returned 
to  the  Duchess  of  Kineddar,  who  lent  me  to  her 
brother,  a  newly-fledged  sub-lieutenant  of  Hussars, 


256      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

who  would  by  and  by  succeed  to  the  paternal  title 
with  the  paternal  embarrassments.  It  was  in  the 
early  spring  of  the  year  that  crowned  the  Yule- 
Multon  divorce  case  with  a  decree  nisi  for  the  com- 
plainant, a  stout,  easily-weeping  lady,  who  had 
been  very  badly  used  by  the  respondent,  the  hand- 
some Guardsman,  whose  letter,  in  my  first  adven- 
ture, was  too  late  in  reaching  the  mark  at  which  it 
was  addressed.  He  had  got  through  a  great  deal 
of  the  poor  lady's  money,  she  being  the  widow  of 
a  wealthy  brewer,  who,  as  Petrolina  explained,  had 
made  a  great  many  people  bad  because  he  sold  such 
good  beer.  And  when  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Yule-Multon 
got  her  decree  and  resumed  her  discarded  name  of 
Topping,  the  Captain  was  obliged,  after  sending 
in  his  papers,  to  betake  himself  abroad,  and  there 
he  met  Freddy — who  had  no  right  to  be  there — 
ruffling  it  in  company  of  gamesters,  millionaires, 
Grand  Dukes,  and  Presidents  of  foreign  Republics 
— to  say  nothing  of  the  ladies  who  accompanied  them. 
They  encountered  at  the  Casino,  in  brilliant 
Easter  weather,  three  o'clock  noon.  The  first 
glimpse  of  Freddy's  fair  face,  illuminated  by  a  pair 
of  frank  blue  eyes,  and  adorned  with  delicately- 
pencilled  eyebrows  and  golden  moustache,  turned 
Yule-Multon  sick  with  recollection.  He  was  so  like 
Duchess  Helen.  The  boy's  tailor  had,  in  a  trustful 
spirit  which  did  honour  to  the  tradesman's  heart, 
if  not  his  head,  furnished  him  with  garments  of 
the  latest  Bond  Street  cut.  His  hat  was  a  poem, 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  257 

his  waistcoat  a  dream.  His  necktie — of  sober  tints, 
as  befitting  "  One  of  Ours  " — was  tied  in  the  newest 
knot.  As  he  swaggered  along  smiling,  in  the  best 
humour  with  himself  and  all  the  world,  fashionable 
cocottes  cried:  "What  a  darling!  C'est  chic,  ma 
foil"  Great  ladies  looked  approval,  and  the  Duchesse 
de  Camelot,  who  is  nothing  if  not  ethical,  moaned 
aloud  that  one  so  young  and  beautiful  should  come 
to  the  Casino. 

"Hallo,  Fosvil !  Where  are  you  bound?"  was 
the  Guardsman's  greeting. 

"  Trente-et-quarante,"  said  Freddy,  rattling  in 
his  pocket  sovereigns  which  were  the  last  meltings 
of  Duchess  Helen's  birthday  cheque. 

"Hang  trente-et-qiwrante I  Come  and  have  a 
flutter  at  the  roulette-table,"  said  Yule-Multon. 

He  took  Freddy's  arm,  and  the  boy,  who  had 
always  thought  him  a  fine  fellow,  laughed  and  went 
with  him. 

"  Vous  etes  a  dummy — n'est  ce  pas? — only  pre- 
tendin'  to  play?"  said  Freddy  to  an  old  lady  with 
a  hooked  nose.  "I'll  give  you  five  francs  for  your 
seat,"  and  he  handed  them  over  to  Madame  de 
Punter,  and  got  effusive  thanks — and  the  chair. 

He  changed  a  thousand-franc  note  for  ten 
•plaques,  and  put  four  of  them  on  impair,  laughing 
and  chatting  with  Yule-Multon.  Then  he  threw 
three  pieces  on  pair,  and  won  again. 

"  In  vein,  by  Jove  !"  he  cried,  and  Captain  Yule- 
Multon,  glancing  darkly  at  the  fair,  triumphant  face 


258      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

and  shining  blue  eyes,  decided,  with  other  people, 
that  it  was  true.  He  followed  Freddy's  game 
closely  for  the  next  twenty  coups,  and  excitement 
gathered  and  increased  round  the  two  Englishmen. 

A  double  pile  of  gold  rose  before  them,  and 
calmly,  methodically,  as  it  seemed,  they  continued 
to  stake  and  win.  Then  zero  came  up,  and  the 
stakes  upon  the  board  were  put  in  prison — the  next 
coup  liberated  them,  and — 

"The  run  of  luck  is  at  an  end,"  whispered  Yule- 
Multon.  "We  have  won  ten  thousand  francs 
between  us.  Let  us  change  it  into  notes  and 
sovereigns,  and  get  out  of  this." 

And,  this  done,  he  steered  young  Fortunatus 
through  the  crowd,  greedy  and  curious,  out  into 
the  open  air. 

"  My  hat !"  cried  Freddy.  "  Why  did  you  bring 
me  out  of  the  scrimmage?  Why,  we  might  have 
broken  the  bank  between  us!"  His  pockets  were 
bulging  with  notes  and  gold,  as  were  those  of  his 
companion. 

"You  ungrateful  young  beggar!"  Yule-Multon 
said.  "Thank  me  that  you  have  got  away  with  a 
very  pretty  nest-egg." 

"  I  won  it  with  Nelly's  money,"  chuckled  jubilant 
Freddy.  "I  must  buy  her  a  present  out  of  it. 
Where  are  you  staying,  old  fellow  ?" 

"At  the  Couronne."  Then,  as  Freddy's  eyes 
opened  rather  more  widely,  Yule-Multon  added 
stiffly  :  "  It's  not  up  to  first-class  form,  I'm  aware, 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  259 

but  it's  near  the  Casino — and  one  can  turn  day  into 
night — supposing  one  wants  to." 

"  The  best  of  all  ways  to  lengthen  our  days 
Is  to  steal  a  few  hours  from  the  night  " 

trolled  Freddy.     "Look  here,  will  you  dine  with 
me  at  the  Metropole?" 

"Thanks,  but  why  not  come  back  with  me  to  the 
Couronne  ?  The  cooking's  capital,  and  the  wine  is 
something  like.  And " 

"Righto!"  said  Freddy.  "  D'you  know,  I've 
often  wondered  what  it  felt  like  to  be  a  millionaire. 
Well,  I  know  now,  and  it's  rippin'  !  Here's  my 
car  waiting.  You  know  it — used  to  be  Nell's  once 
upon  a  time.  I  meant  to  drive  over  to  Roquebrune 
to  call  on  some  friends,  but  they'll  keep." 

"My  dear,  I  am  afraid  for  the  boy,"  sighed 
Petrolina,  as  we  stopped  before  the  white-painted, 
green-blinded  hotel,  in  a  narrow  by-street.  "  He  is 
in  bad  company.  Our  handsome  ex-Guardsman  is 
a  scoundrel,  and  has  a  score  to  pay  off  somebody 
who  loves  handsome,  hare-brained  Freddy  as  the 
apple  of  her  eye.  Listen.  Yule-Multon  is  proposing 
a  quiet  game  of  poker  before  dinner.  Not  bridge, 
you  see,  because  he  means  it  to  be  a  tete-a-tete.  .  .  . 
He  has  a  golden  goose  to  pluck,  and  doesn't  mean 
that  any  of  his  rascally  friends — and  he  is  as  much 
a  rascal  as  the  worst  of  them — to  share  in  the 
plunder.  Now  they  are  going  up  to  Yule-Multon 's 
room — he  has  only  one,  funds  being  low.  Presently, 
when  the  table  d'hote  bell  rings,  these  two  will  be 


26o      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

too  much  absorbed  to  dine ;  they  will  stay  up  there 
behind  those  queer  jalousies  and  order  drinks 
instead." 

It  turned  out  exactly  as  Petrolina  had  prophesied. 
The  gong  sounded,  and  the  tables  filled  with  men 
and  women  of  all  nationalities,  but  the  handsome 
ex-Guardsman,  with  the  sleepy,  fierce,  brown  eyes, 
and  the  silky  caressing  manner,  and  the  beautiful 
English  boy  were  not  of  those  who  dined.  They 
sat  on  either  side  of  a  little  round-topped,  green 
cloth-covered  table  in  Yule-Multon's  room,  a  bottle 
of  cognac  and  some  syphons  of  seltzer,  a  bowl  of 
cracked  ice,  and  a  decanter  of  absinthe  upon  a  stand 
close  by.  Yule-Multon  splashed  soda  into  his  glass, 
and  only  made  feint  with  the  brandy,  but  Freddy, 
flushed  and  losing  heavily,  had  frequent  recourse 
to  the  bottle. 

"  You  have  Old  Harry's  own  luck,"  the  boy  said, 
with  a  nervous  laugh,  as  Yule-Multon  displayed  a 
royal  flush  against  two  pairs  of  Freddy's. 

"  Why  does  he  always  win  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Look  at  the  little  finger-nail  of  his  right  hand, 
and  you  will  know  why.  It  is  of  uncommon  length, 
is  it  not  ?  And,  just  before  dealing,  he  covers  the 
pack  with  his  right  hand,  doesn't  he?  There  is  a 
tiny  pin-prick  just  within  the  edge  of  certain  valu- 
able cards,  and  that  cultivated  little  finger-nail, 
gently  inserted  between  them,  ascertains  exactly 
where  they  lie.  Then,  when  just  about  to  deal,  he 
holds  the  pack  in  both  hands,  clever  fellow  that  he 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  261 

is.  Only  for  a  moment,  but — to  a  skilled  manipu- 
lator like  our  friend — that  moment  is  sufficient. 
Result :  Freddy  gets  a  bad  hand,  his  alert  companion 
a  full  one.  Already  the  boy  has  lost  four  thousand 
francs  of  his  winnings — his  handsome  face  is  cloudy 
and  flushed,  his  throat  is  parched.  He  goes  in  for 
brandy  and  soda  once  more,  and  bets  heavily  on 
the  cards  he  holds.  Three  kings,  not  at  all  bad. 
But  Yule-Multon  has  something  better — nothing 
less  than  a  royal  flush — and  Freddy  pushes  over  all 
the  cash  he  has  left,  and  with  a  harsh  laugh  takes 
his  diamond  and  pearl  pin  from  his  necktie,  and 
loosens  his  watch  and  chain,  and  lays  them  down  on 
the  table.  What  is  he  saying  ? 

"No  I  O  U's  while  I  have  money's  worth. 
Nothing  but  my  studs  left  now,  to  gamble  with, 
and  Nell  gave  'em  me,  Multon,  and  I  don't  care 
about  riskin'  em." 

He  did  risk  and  lost. 

"I'll  take  your  paper  for  the  balance,"  Yule- 
Multon  said,  pulling  his  heavy  moustache,  and 
smiling  in  the  flushed  face  of  his  victim. 

"  I  promised  Nell,"  the  boy  began,  and  the  other 
grinned  a  grin  of  malice.  "Stop;  there's  my 
automobile  outside.  Seen  some  wear,  but  good  for 
ninety  pounds,"  cried  Freddy,  "and  I'll  play  you 
for  that." 

"  We  may  congratulate  ourselves,  my  dear,"  said 
Petrolina,  "  on  having  passed  into  the  possession  of 
a  very  reputable  person." 


262      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

"  You  don't  mean  that  that  designing  wretch  has 
won  me?"  I  cried  in  dismay. 

"Fact,"  said  Petrolina,  "and  the  poor,  pretty 
pigeon  is  nearly  plucked.  But  he  has  had  the  wit 
not  to  set  his  hand  to  paper,  and  paper  is  what  our 
friend  and  proprietor  wants.  He  has  set  his  heart 
on  ruining  the  boy,  for  hate  of  Duchess  Helen,  who 
escaped  his  toils,  thanks  to  you  and  me.  Oh  ! 
Freddy,  Freddy,  wretched  boy,  what  are  you  stak- 
ing now?  See  the  other  man's  face  as  he  looks  at 
the  face  painted  so  delicately  upon  the  oval  of  ivory 
within  a  rim  of  brilliants.  It  was  Duchess  Helen's 
present  to  the  boy,  that  diamond-set  miniature  of 
her.  He  vowed  he  would  never  part  with  it.  Oh, 
foolish  Freddy  !  And  he  has  worn  it  round  his 
neck  by  its  hair  chain  for  a  year ;  and  now  he  lays 
it  on  the  table  in  a  sharper's  den.  What^s  Yule- 
Multon  saying?" 

"Thank  you,  but  not  without  the  chain  !" 

"The — the  hair  !  Why,  that  isn't  of  any  value — 
except  as  a  keepsake,"  stammered  the  boy.  "  Look 
here,  Multon.  I'll  withdraw  that  and  the  miniature 
as  well.  Here's  my  I  O  U." 

But  Yule-Multon  had  seen  the  date  upon  the 
miniature — that  of  a  year  back — and  the  engraved 
"  From  Nell,"  and  a  devilish  scheme  had  begun  to 
breed  in  his  busy  brain.  Oh,  what  could  not  be 
worked  in  the  way  of  revenge  had  he  but  posses- 
sion of  that  miniature.  Who  would  believe  when 
Duchess  Helen  should  say  —  "7  gave  it  to  my 
brother!" 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  263 

Freddy  had  returned  chain  and  miniature  to  their 
hiding-place  next  his  foolish,  honest  young  heart, 
and  was  standing  at  the  pier-glass  fastening  his 
collar,  when  Yule-Multon  made  his  last  bid. 

"  Look  here,  I'll  stake  you  all  I've  won  from  you, 
to  the  last  sou,  against  that  miniature.  I  will,  upon 
my  soul."  He  cut  the  cards.  "  It's  my  deal — will 
you  play?" 

Freddy  tied  his  necktie  at  the  pier-glass.  He  saw 
the  pack  quivering  in  his  antagonist's  dexterous 
hands.  His  eyes  were  dimmed,  his  head  hot  and 
dizzy.  But  he  had  seen — and  he  knew.  He  turned 
and  faced  Yule-Multon. 

"  I  take  you.  Done,  on  one  condition,  that  I 
deal.  I've  noticed" — and  there  was  scathing  con- 
tempt in  the  quiet  voice — "that  you're  generally 
fortunate  when  you  do." 

"  Do  you  insinuate ?"  began  the  other;  then 

he  shrugged  carelessly.  "Deal,  with  pleasure!" 
He  added  something  else  under  his  breath. 

Freddy  took  the  cards  and  shuffled  them  with  care. 
Then  he  dealt,  looking  steadily  in  Yule-Multon 's 
eyes. 

"  My  miniature  of  Nell  against  all  you've  won 
from  me.  I'm  a  blackguard  to  chance  it,"  the  boy 
said  in  his  heart,  "  but  if  I  win  I  swear  before  Heaven 
I'll  never  bet  again.  If  I  lose " 

His  heart  beat  suffocatingly.  He  was  deadly 
sick.  If  he  lost  his  sister's  portrait  to  this  knave 
life  would  be  impossible.  He  could  never  hold  up 
his  head  again — even  though  Heaven  pardoned  and 


264      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

Helen  forgave  him.  She  had  nursed  him  through 
typhoid  fever  at  the  risk  of  her  own  life.  He  felt 
her  cool  breath  upon  his  burning  forehead  and  her 
gentle  touch  upon  his  hand  as  in  those  days.  Yes, 
he  would  shoot  himself  if  he  lost.  He  swore  it  in 
his  soul  as  he  took  up  his  hand. 

Jt  was  wretched — a  broken  flush  of  the  lowest 
cards.  Such  a  rush  of  colour  came  into  his  haggard 
cheeks  at  sight  of  it  that  Yule-Multon,  watching  for 
signs  out  of  the  corners  of  his  eyes,  could  have 
sworn  the  cards  were  of  the  best.  His  own  were 
nothing  to  boast  of — a  pair  of  sevens,  a  tray,  and 
an  ace.  While  this  infernal  young  fool 

Freddy,  looking  him  straight  in  the  face,  bubbled 
over  with  laughter.  That  such  a  little  thing  as  a  hand 
of  cards — five  bits  of  painted  pasteboard — should 
send  Nell  into  mourning.  His  eyes  danced,  the 
colour  ebbed  and  flowed  under  his  clear  skin. 

"No  call?  Will  you  see  me — or  pass?"  His 
voice  rang  clear,  loud  and  triumphant.  "Such  a 
fool  could  not  bluff  to  save  his  life,"  thought  Yule- 
Multon,  and  flung  down  his  wretched  hand  with  a 
bitter  curse.  Then  the  boy,  who  had  won  back 
both  honour  and  life,  threw  down  his  own,  and  the 
pile  of  notes  and  gold,  the  watch  and  chain,  and 
the  studs,  changed  hands.  And  I  had  regained 
my  master. 

'  You  —  won't  sup  here  —  and  give  me  my 
revenge?"  said  Yule-Multon,  with  a  last  effort,  as 
Freddy  took  hat  and  stick,  and  with  buttoned-up 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  265 

coat  over  pockets  twice  as  bulging  as  before,  went 
to  the  door.  The  boy  looked  back. 

' '  Thanks — no  !  I'm  going  to  be  a  bit  more  careful 
of  my  company  in  future,"  said  the  boy  composedly. 

"  You  young -" 

"I  am  young,"  said  Freddy,  turning  in  the 
doorway ;  "  but — shall  I  tell  you  one  thing,  Captain 
Yule-Multon?" 

"  Do — and  be  hanged  to  you  !"  snarled  the  dis- 
comfited sharper. 

Freddy  rang  the  lift-bell  in  the  corridor  before  he 
said,  very  slowly  : 

"  That  winning  hand  of  mine — that  was  a  bluff  I" 

Then  he  stepped  into  the  lift  and  descended  to 
the  ground-floor.  He  chuckled  as  he  got  into  me, 
and  we  started  at  a  smooth,  gliding  pace. 

"I'll  go  home  to-morrow,"  said  the  boy,  "and 
see  Nell  and  make  a  clean  breast  of  it.  Why,  there's 
young  April." 

"Young  April,"  as  little  Lord  Frickham  was  nick- 
named at  Eton  because  he  was  so  extremely  green 
and  tender,  jumped  at  the  hail,  and  sprang  to 
Freddy's  side  as  he  checked  me. 

"  I  say,  aren't  you  a  swell.  Where  did  you  raise 
the  machine?  Bully — oh,  bully  I" 

"  Look  here,  young  man,"  said  Freddy,  magisteri- 
ally, "are  you  here  alone?" 

"  I — yes,  I  am.  I  was  at  Mentone  with  Mother 
and  the  girls." 

"  Why  ain't  you  at  school  ?" 


266      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

"  I've  left  Eton,  you  know,"  said  Frickham,  with 
a  healthy  blush.  "  I  go  to  Oxford  next  term,  and 
I'd  a  throat,  and  they — Mater's  medical  men — said 
the  south  of  France  was  as  good  as  anywhere.  And 
so  we  came.  Jane  is  stopping  at  the  Villa  Bourboule 
— my  cousin  Jane,  you  know.  She's  uglier  than 
ever,  and  the  Mater  rubs  it  in  that  I've  got  to  marry 
her  because  she's  a  Viscountess  in  her  own  right, 
and  as  rich  as  a  Jew.  And  I  hate  her — at  least, 
whenever  I  think  about  having  to  marry  her.  And 
ever  since  I  saw  Madame  Henriette  Baziel  act  in 
London  last  June,  I've — I've  been  worse."  Frickham 
was  all  red,  red  hair,  reddish-brown  eyes,  red 
freckles,  and  red  blushes  as  Freddy  looked  hard  at 
him.  "  She  played  in  L' Impair  and  Papa  Patachon. 
And,  by  Jove,  I  think  she's  the  loveliest  woman  in 
the  world." 

"And  you're  in  love  with  her,  you  young  ass  !" 
said  Freddy,  "and  rushed  over  here  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  her." 

*'  How  the  dickens  did  you  guess  ?  But  it's  true. 
We're  stopping  in  a  beastly  pension,  with  other 
people  as  poor  as  church  mice,  and  I  read  in  the 
paper  that  she  was  here,  and  I  bolted  and  came 
over.  Now  I'm  off  to  the  Casino  to  try  and  get  a 
glimpse.  Ta-ta!" 

"  You  won't  get  it,"  said  Freddy,  cruelly.  "  She 
left  on  her  steam  motor-car — an  eighteen  horse- 
power Oiseau  vapomobile — this  morning.  I  saw 
her  go.  I  heard  her  call  out  to  the  Due  de  Blanque- 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  267 

ville  :  '  Au  revoir,  mon  cher!  I  go  by  Lyons,  Dijon, 
Chaumont,  and  Nogent — to  Paris.  Come  and  see 
us  soon  in  the  Chaussee  d'Antin.' ' 

"  '  I  go  by  Lyons,  Dijon,  Chaumont,  and  Nogent, 
to  Paris.'  And  she  lives  in  the  Chaussee  d'Antin," 
repeated  poor  downcast  Frickham.  "Lucky  beast 
of  a  Due  to  be  asked  to  go  to  see  her.  What  are 
you  stopping  for?" 

"It's  the  telegraph  bureau.  I'm  going  to  cable 
to  my  sister  to  say  I'm  coming  home,"  Freddy 
said  over  his  shoulder,  as  he  ran  up  the  crooked 
stone  steps.  The  bureau  was  crowded ;  he  scribbled 
out  his  cablegram  and  waited  several  moments 
before  the  harassed  clerk  could  attend  to  him.  When 
he  ran  down  the  steps  again  he  opened  his  blue  eyes 
in  astonishment.  No  Frickham,  no  automobile  ! 

"  He  can  drive,  the  little  beggar,  and  he's  taken 
the  car  for  a  run.  Like  his  cheek,"  said  Freddy. 

A  beggar  upon  crutches  shuffled  up  and  tendered 
a  scrap  of  paper.  Freddy  tossed  the  man  half  a 
franc ;  he  offered  the  bit  of  paper  persistently. 

"From  the  other  English  gentleman,"  he  said 
at  last,  and  Freddy,  unfolding  a  leaf  torn  from 
Frickham 's  notebook,  read  these  words,  hastily 
scribbled  in  pencil : 

"  Au  revoir,  mon  cher.  I  go  by  Lyons,  Dijon, 
Chaumont,  and  Nogent — to  Paris.  Don't  split  to 
the  Mater. — FRICKHAM." 

"  Confound  the  fellow  !     He  has  bolted  with  my 


268      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

carl"  shouted  Freddy.  A  vision  rose  before  him 
of  Frickham,  in  a  halo  of  dust,  pursuing  a  lovely 
will-o'-the-wisp,  at  prohibited  speed,  along  French 
highways,  while  Lady  Frickham  played  Sister 
Anne  on  the  balcony  of  a  cheap  Mentone  pension. 
His  wrath  changed  to  laughter,  the  whole  thing  was 
so  much  in  the  style  of  young  Lochinvar.  He  walked 
home  to  the  hotel  laughing,  and  went  home  next 
day  by  the  express  from  Turin. 


V. 

"A  new  experience  for  you,  Automobile,  my 
dear,  wise  as  you  are  getting,"  cried  Petrolina,  with 
a  triumphant  chuckle.  "This  scamp  of  a  boy, 
.'  Young  April,'  has  eloped  with  us.  We  are  on  the 
track  of  his  charmer,  and  he  will  have  to  pile  on 
speed  to  catch  her  up — if  ever  he  does " 

The  rest  was  lost  in  the  rush  of  my  going.  Mercy  ! 
how  Frickham  drove.  And  as  he  went  he  muttered 
between  his  clenched  teeth  :  "  Lyons,  Dijon,  Chau- 
mont,  Nogent,  Paris!"  I  trembled  for  my  pneu- 
matic tyres,  remembering  the  Bishop  of  Baverfield's 
painful  experience.  But  one  could  not  but  feel  that, 
were  Frickham  "projected  into  the  air"  by  any 
such  untoward  accident,  the  boy  would  rebound  un- 
hurt from  the  surface  of  Mother  Earth,  like  a  tennis 
ball.  He  had  five  hundred  francs  in  his  pocket,  this 
young  adventurer,  an  English  half-sovereign,  and 
a  Norwegian  copper  piece  of  one  ore.  It  would  be 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  269 

necessary  to  be  economical .  At  Grenoble  he  stopped, 
bought  a  long  loaf  of  bread,  some  bottles  of  mineral 
waters,  and  a  gigantic  bunch  of  bananas.  He  also 
expended  two  francs  on  a  road-map,  which  he  spread 
upon  the  vacant  seat  beside  him,  and  weighted  with 
bottles  of  soda-water.  All  through  the  day  the  boy 
drove,  without  overtaking  anything  like  the  eighteen 
horse-power  car  of  which  he  was  in  search.  Carters 
cracked  their  whips  at  him,  and  petrol  touring- 
cars  were  left  behind  upon  the  road.  Once  a  wicked- 
looking,  grey-painted,  racing-car,  the  driver-owner's 
uncomfortable,  low-backed  seat  occupying  but  a  tiny 
space  behind  the  big  wedge-nosed  engine  and  the 
capacious  tank,  appeared  on  the  distant  road,  and 
flashed  by,  leaving  Frickham  with  a  mental  photo- 
graph of  a  haggard,  determined  face,  and  red,  weary 
eyes  peering  through  a  talc  mask. 

"  Biggies,  on  his  Thousand-mile  Cup-winner," 
said  Frickham  to  himself.  *'  I  wonder  whether  he 
has  seen  her?" 

She,  of  course,  being  Madame  Henriette  Baziel. 

She  had,  as  it  happened,  and  smiled  and  bowed  to 
the  hollow-eyed  champion  as  he  flashed  by,  and  said 
to  her  companion  afterwards — speaking  of  the  ugly 
racing  car:  "She  is  an  awful  guy" — to  translate 
Madame's  Parisian  slang  literally  —  "Mais  elle 
marchel" 

Madame's  own  vehicle  was  walking  at  the  pre- 
historic rate  of  thirty-five  miles  an  hour.  Sunset 
was  dying  and  the  lonely  star  of  twilight  palely  shin- 


270      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

ing  under  the  growing  curve  of  the  new  moon,  when 
the  speed  lessened,  and  the  engine  began  to  give  off 
warning  hiccoughs.  Madame's  companion,  a  stiff, 
middle-aged  example  of  irreproachable  respect- 
ability, shrouded  in  yards  of  blue  gauze  from  the  sun 
and  dust,  uttered  shrill  cries.  The  car  was  brought 
to  a  standstill,  the  driver  and  the  chauffeur  peered 
under  the  high-bodied  vehicle,  unbonneted  the 
engine,  and  inspected  the  water-tank.  The  regulator 
leaked,  the  exhaust  valve  simply  shrieked  to  be 
reground — a  simple  process  enough  when  materials 
for  regrinding  are  at  hand.  But  in  the  present 
instance,  they  were  not.  And  there  was  no  spare 
valve. 

"We  are  within  three  miles  of  a  town  of  small 
size,  but  doubtless  possessing  an  automobile  agent ; 
let  us  send  Michel  forward  to  get  the  valve  reground, 
and  purchase  a  spare  one.  We  can  sup  al  fresco 
by  the  roadside.  It  will  be  amusing!"  suggested 
the  driver. 

"  My  friend,  Michel  has  already  proved  himself 
an  idiot.  I  would  rather  thou  went.  Thou  art  an 
athlete ;  the  three  miles  will  be  nothing  to  those  long 
legs  of  thine,"  said  Madame,  smiling  like  a  sorceress 
through  the  latest  thing  in  veils.  "Thou  knowest, 
Charles." 

Charles  glanced  through  his  goggles  rather  rue- 
fully at  the  extremities  thus  complimented. 

"  In  such  heat — and  dust,"  he  murmured. 

Madame  had  her  retort. 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  271 

"  Didst  thou  heed  those  in  Africa?" 

Charles  explained  that  the  thirst  for  military  glory 
had  caused  him  to  overlook  these  discomforts. 

"Once  a  soldier  of  France — always  a  soldier  of 
France.  Forward!"  said  Madame,  dramatically, 
and  Charles  set  the  long  legs  obediently  in  motion. 
He  looked  back  at  a  bend  where  the  white  road  grew 
steeper.  Madame  kissed  her  hand. 

"This  is  a  rigolade,  without  doubt!  Parole 
d'honneur!"  he  grumbled.  But  he  strode  forward 
manfully  and  vanished  out  of  sight.  The  companion 
kindled  a  spirit-lamp  at  the  roadside,  a  respectful 
distance  from  the  car.  "  Where  there  are  explosives 
one  must  be  careful,"  she  observed.  Singing  as 
carelessly  and  as  sweetly  as  a  bird,  Madame 
Henriette  opened  a  cunningly  bestowed  hamper,  and 
took  out  a  store  of  capital  things — bread  and  salad, 
pats  of  golden  butter  wrapped  in  green  leaves, 
sausage,  pdt6,  hard-boiled  eggs,  cream -cheese, 
pastry,  and  fruit.  Coffee  was  made — smelling 
divinely.  Madame  had  just  poured  it  out  when 
Frickham  arrived  upon  the  scene. 

"  I  have  seen  that  little  English  boy  before," 
thought  Madame  Henriette.  He  recognised  her, 
panted,  put  on  the  screaming  brakes  so  hard  that  I 
described  a  half-circle  in  the  dust,  and,  as  I  halted, 
quivering  and  white  with  dust  as  any  miller,  his  red 
eyebrows  were  frosted  as  with  premature  age,  a  coat- 
ing as  of  damp  flour  adhered  to  his  snub,  school- 
boy features,  but  the  worship  in  his  reddish  eyes, 


272      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

blazing  under  their  white  eye-lashes,  was  plain,  as 
he  noted  the  stationary  car,  the  chauffeur  tinkering 
in  its  bowels,  and  the  ladies  by  the  roadside. 

"I'm  so  awfully  sorry,"  he  began;  "how  did 

it "  then  he  checked  himself  and  blundered  into 

schoolboy  French. 

"I  also  speak  the  English,"  Madame  assured 
him  ;  and  surely  there  never  was  a  prettier  accent. 

"  You  have  come  to  grief  somehow;  can  I  be  of 
any  use?"  implored  Frickham. 

"Of  use?  Monsieur,  I  do  not  know "  She 

put  one  exquisitely-gloved  finger  to  the  distracting 
dimple  in  her  chin. 

"  Some  petrol — or  a  spanner — or  oil " 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  pondering,  her  bright  eyes  half- 
closed,  "it  may  be  oil  that  is  needed.  Could 
Monsieur  spare  some  ?" 

"  My  heart's  blood  !"  burst  from  poor  Frickham, 
and  then  blushes  covered  him. 

"A  little  oil  would  be  more  useful,"  she  said, 
innocently.  Oh  1  how  innocent  she  could  be  when 
she  chose. 

"My  cherished,  the  coffee  spoils!"  called  the 
companion. 

"We  are  coming,  A  dele  !  Monsieur"  —  she 
turned  all  her  bright  artillery  upon  poor  Frickham 
— "  Monsieur  will  share  with  us.  We  are  fellow- 
travellers,  and  Monsieur  will  not  refuse  the  hospi- 
tality of  the  road." 

Adele,  her  blue  veil  raised  above  a  well-powdered 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  273 

chin,  received  Frickham  with  smiles.  They  sat  and 
ate — glorified  sausage,  celestial  ham,  the  pastry  of 
fairyland,  and  drank  the  coffee  of  the  immortals. 
Afterwards  Henriette  produced  a  little  flask  of 
liqueur. 

Each  had  a  chasse,  Adele  took  a  second.  Sitting 
by  the  road  they  chatted  while  the  sunset  glowed 
deepest  orange,  and  the  shadows  stretched  longer 
and  bluer.  She  smoked  a  cigarette.  Frickham  had 
one  from  her  dainty  case,  though  perfumed  Turkish 
tobacco  was  despised  at  school,  and  the  meerschaum 
in  his  pocket  burned  to  come  out. 

He  was  surprised  to  find  himself  telling  Madame 
everything,  about  the  beastly  pension,  and  the  girls, 
and  Jane.  Looking  sideways  at  Madame  Henriette's 
piquant  profile,  listening  to  her  charming  voice, 
entangled  in  the  net  of  her  delicate  witcheries,  how 
very,  very  plain  Jane  appeared.  He  was  deeper  in 
love  every  instant.  He  wondered  whether  she 
guessed?  Simple  Frickham.  He  blurted  out  the 
reason  of  his  bolt  over  to  Monaco.  Grown  bold,  he 
confessed  the  theft  of  ME.  She  laughed  and  clapped 
her  hands. 

"  But  it  is  a  Gasconnadel  Monsieur  cannot  be 
English.  Adele — do  listen  to  this  !" 

She  told  the  story  in  her  clear-cut,  exquisite 
French,  Frickham  watching  the  play  of  her  mouth, 
eyes,  and  fingers.  Suddenly,  as  Adele  collapsed  in 
shrieks  of  laughter,  he  realised  that  it  was  funny  f 
That  she  found  his  devotion  amusing,  his  frantic 

18 


274      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

pursuit  an  excellent  joke.  He  sprang  to  his  feet 
with  choking  throat  and  smarting  eyes.  He  bowed 
with  his  best  grace,  and 

"But  stop,  Monsieur!"  she  cried,  and  rose. 
"  You  are  not  going  ?" 

"I— I  think  I'd  better.  Good-bye,  Madame," 
stuttered  poor  Frickham.  His  idol  had  laughed. 
He  could  never  get  over  it.  He  held  out  his  hand 
bravely,  but  his  heart  was  broken. 

She  looked  at  him  with  eyes  in  which  the  mocking 
light  was  quenched  in  tears.  We  will  assume  that 
they  were  real  tears.  Her  lips  quivered.  "Will 
Monsieur  leave  two  ladies  alone — unprotected?  It 
grows  late — our  companion  has  not  returned " 

"Beast  that  I  am!"  thought  Frickham.  He 
declared  his  willingness  to  protect  Madame  and  her 
friend  from  annoyance  or  alarm  even  at  the  peril 
of  his  life.  He  was  beautifully  thanked,  even  as 
the  long  legs  of  Monsieur  Charles  came  striding 
down  the  hill.  He  brought  the  valve,  reground. 
Had  had  something  to  eat  and  drink  at  an  inn .  Was 
ready  to  take  the  road  as  soon  as  the  valve  was 
adjusted.  Frickham  dejectedly  took  leave  once 
more. 

"Nonsense!  Since  you  have  come  part  of  the 
•way  to  Paris  after  us,  you  may  as  well  travel  the 
rest  of  it  with  us,"  said  Madame.  By  "us" 
she  meant  "me."  She  introduced  Frickham  to 
Monsieur  Charles  as  "a  fellow-countryman  of  the 
author  of  Hamlet.*'  The  touch  of  grandiloquence 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  275 

in  her  tone !  Was  she  laughing  again  ?  But  by 
this  time  it  was  too  dark  to  see  her  eyes.  She  invited 
him  to  join  the  party  in  her  "Oiseau."  The 
chauffeur  should  drive  Frickham's  car.  They  were 
to  stay  the  night  at  Lyons.  Voyez,  there  was  an 
extra  couch  in  Monsieur  Charles's  room. 

"  It  will  be  jolly,  most  extremely,"  said  Monsieur 
Charles,  who  also  spoke  English,  and  whose 
moustache  and  cavalry  swagger  had  prejudiced 
Frickham.  "What,  then,  you  still  have  the 
scruples  ?  Zut ,  alors !  For  you  the  bed,  for  me  the 
sofa,  if  you  will.  We  soldiers  can  sleep  on  the  edge 
of  a  blunt  knife." 

"  And  I  want  to  show  you  my  theatre  in  Paris, 
and  my  house  —  and  my  little  rabbits,"  said 
Madame. 

Frickham  swallowed  the  sweet  bait.  Oh  1  the  fun 
and  the  laughter,  the  successes  and  the  mishaps  of 
that  journey  to  Paris.  The  picnics  by  the  roadside, 
the  halts  at  quaint  country  inns,  the  zest  that 
Henriette  gave  to  everything,  with  her  humour,  her 
good  temper,  her  irony,  her  tenderness,  her  wrath. 
On  the  evening  of  the  third  day  they  entered  Paris 
by  one  of  the  great  illuminated  boulevards.  Frick- 
ham, who  had  hitherto  arrived  in  the  grey  dawn, 
crawled  sleepily  out  of  the  stuffy  Paris  express,  and 
been  joggled  through  stale  back-streets  in  a  smelly 
omnibus,  to  be  decanted  in  the  stony  courtyard  of  a 
rigidly  British  hotel,  felt  as  though  he  had  never 
seen  Paris  before. 


276      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

"Thou  wilt  look  after  him — the  little  milord?" 
whispered  Madame  to  Monsieur  Charles,  when, 
after  a  dinner  at  the  Cafe"  de  Paris,  and  a  play  at  the 
Varieties,  she  bade  Frickham  good-night.  "Re- 
member, I  trust  him  to  thee.  It  is  a  good  little  one, 
and  I  will  not  have  him  come  to  harm." 

And  she  dismissed  the  young  men.  Frickham 
was  to  sleep  at  Monsieur  Charles's  flat.  Fearfully 
and  wonderfully  gorgeous  was  that  bachelor  resi- 
dence, an  entresol  of  four  rooms  in  the  Rue  des 
Gommeux.  The  room  assigned  to  Frickham  was 
draped  like  a  Moorish  tent,  and  adorned  with 
trophies  of  arms  and  pipes.  Such  pipes !  a  collec- 
tion of  the  pipes  of  all  the  nations  of  the  world.  The 
smoking-room  was  Japanese,  and  as  Frickham  sat 
in  a  great  carved  chair,  smoking  one  of  his  host's 
Havanas,  and  noted  the  portrait  of  Madame  in  a 
turquoise -studded  silver  frame,  reigning  chief 
among  the  portraits  of  pretty  women  crowding  the 
mantelshelf,  his  heart  knew  a  pang  of  bitter,  boyish 
jealousy. 

"You — you  seem  great  friends,"  he  said,  and 
Monsieur  Charles,  lounging  in  a  brocade  gown  on 
a  divan,  his  embroidered  silk  slippers  in  the  air, 
made  up  his  mouth  into  a  funny  screw  before  he 
answered. 

"  But  yes — we  are  friends.  All  my  life  we  are 
friends,  Madame  and  me." 

"Bragging  brute!"  thought  poor  Frickham, 
scowling  at  the  sabretaches  and  the  sabres  and  the 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  277 

spurs  and  whips  and  foils  that  distinguish  the  apart- 
ment of  a  dandy  cavalryman.  But  he  warmed,  in 
spite  of  himself,  to  the  charm  of  Monsieur  Charles's 
hospitality.  There  were  tones  in  his  voice,  glances 
of  his  eye,  that  reminded  Frickham  of  the  goddess 
he  adored.  He  telegraphed  to  Lady  Frickham  to 
say  that  he  was  with  friends  in  Paris,  carefully  for- 
getting to  mention  their  names,  and  would  return 
in  two  days'  time.  And  he  saw  a  rehearsal  at 
Madame  Henriette's  theatre,  and  drove  out  to  her 
house  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  to  late  breakfast. 
His  goddess,  looking  adorable,  gave  him  both 
hands.  Adele  of  the  powdered  nose  gave  him  three 
fingers.  Madame  Henriette  was  all  smiles,  all  en- 
chantment. Her  house  was  a  miracle  of  beauty 
and  good  taste,  but  Jane  would  have  said  there  were 
too  many  flowers,  and  Lady  Frickham  would  have 
been  shocked  at  the  extravagance  of  point  lace 
blinds.  She  gave  him  her  photograph,  "With 
charming  recollections  of  our  journey,"  written  in 
small  characters  on  the  margin,  above  a  giant 
signature. 

"You  return  to-morrow,  milord?"  she  said;  and 
poor  Frickham  felt  that  somehow  it  was  a  command. 
"  But  before  we  part  I  must  show  you  my  little 
rabbits." 

The  little  rabbits  were  three  fair,  pretty  children. 
They  appeared  at  dejeuner,  smiling  over  em- 
broidered lace  bibs,  and  beat  with  silver-gilt  spoons 
upon  the  table,  shrieking  "Papa!"  as  Monsieur 


278 

Charles  appeared.  He  kissed  them  all  round  and 
then,  with  a  queer  look  at  Frickham,  embraced 
Madame  Henriette,  while  the  poor  little  milord  went 
hot  and  cold. 

"  Monsieur  asked  me  last  night  whether  we  were 
friends?"  He  pulled  her  pink  ear,  smiling,  as 
Frickham  bounded  in  his  chair.  "  I  told  him  '  All 
my  life.'" 

"It  is  true,"  said  Madame  Henriette,  turning  to 
the  scarlet  boy.  "Mother  and  son  are  friends  in 
France.  It  is  not  so  in  England  ?" 

Frickham  could  not  speak.  They  thought  the 
soup  had  burned  him,  or  they  said  they  thought 
so. 

"  A  little  ice-water,"  suggested  Adele.  "  Charles, 
the  ice-water  stands  by  thy  mother.  No,  Nini,  thy 
hand  is  too  small.  Let  papa  have  the  carafe,  my 
child." 

Frickham  could  not  restrain  himself. 

"Are  you?  .  .  .     Is  it  true?"  .  .  . 

"That  this  long-legged  cuirassier  is  my  son? 
But  certainly,"  said  Madame  Henriette,  with  the 
prettiest  matronly  air.  "  Certainly,  monsieur.  Also 
that  Adele  there  is  my  dear  daughter-in-law,  and 
that  these  little  rabbits  are  my  grandchildren.  I 
must  introduce  you  to  my  husband  also.  He  will 
join  us  later." 

He  proved,  when  he  joined  them,  much  too  young 
a  husband  to  be  the  father  of  the  volatile  Monsieur 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  279 

Charles.  In  fact,  he  was  Madame's  third.  She 
adored  him,  evidently.  He  was  a  banker  of  Alsa- 
tian extraction,  whose  "b's"  were  "p's,"  and 
whose  name  was  M.  Josich. 

Frickham  felt  giddy  as  he  took  leave.  She  was 
kind,  she  was  lovely,  even  in  the  morning  light, 
but  she  was  a  mother  and  a  grandmother,  and 
married  for  the  third  time  to  a  M.  Josich. 

"  Is  it  all  over?"  she  asked,  as  she  gave  him  her 
hand.  "  You  love  me  no  longer,  is  it  not  so?  But 
you  will  take  my  photograph  home  to  England  and 
remember  your  friend  Henriette  when  you  look  at 
it,  and  you  will  marry  the  little  Vicomtesse  Jeanne, 
and  be  happy  ever  after  !"  She  kissed  his  cheek  as 
his  own  mother  might  have  done.  "You  are  half 
angry  with  me  now  for  not  being  all  you  dreamed  .  .  . 
is  it  not?  But  by  and  by  you  will  be  glad  that  I 
showed  you  my  little  rabbits.  Adiue,  milord,  and— 
bon  voyage!" 

She  waved  her  white  hand  from  the  balcony  and 
threw  Frickham  a  rose.  M .  Josich  stood  beside  her, 
Charles  and  Adele  were  behind,  arm-in-arm,  the 
little  rabbits  were  clinging  to  her  dress.  Frickham 
thought  his  heart  was  broken  as  he  drove  away  in  a 
rattle-trap  Paris  cab.  But  he  went  and  saw  her 
act  that  night,  and  wore  his  gloves  out  applauding, 
and  laughed  until  he  cried.  He  met  M.  Charles  in 
the  foyer. 

"My  friend — whom  I  have  known  all  my  life — 


280     EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

told  me  to  give  you  this."  He  gave  Frickham  a  little 
package.  "  You  are  not  to  open  it  until  you  get 
back  to  Men  tone." 

Frickham  drove  back  to  rejoin  Lady  Frickham 
and  the  girls,  and  Jane,  at  a  very  sober  and  reason- 
able pace,  knowing  the  scolding  that  awaited  him. 
I  may  add  that  he  got  it. 

The  packet  contained  a  turquoise  and  diamond 
pin.  Frickham  has  always  cherished  it.  He  wore 
it  on  his  wedding  day,  three  years  later,  and 
Jane 

Jane  makes  a  good  wife  and  Frickham  a  con- 
scientious, if  unimpassioned,  husband. 


VI. 

I  travelled  back  to  England  with  the  Frickhams. 
Freddy  Fosvil — on  my  return — lent  me  to  a  friend. 
Not  an  old  friend — a  decidedly  young  and  fair  one, 
in  the  person  of  Miss  Nora  Philadelphia  Van 
Cupper,  whose  acquaintance  he  had  made  at  the 
memorable  costume  ball  given  by  the  Duchess  of 
Kineddar,  at  Strongholdness  House  that  very 
season. 

"  I  guess  you  think,  when  I  say  how  badly  I  need 
rest  and  quiet,  that  Piccadilly  ought  to  seem  as 
peaceful  as  a  desert  after  the  racket  of  N'York. 
Well,  it  is  pretty  noisy,  and  that's  a  fact.  We  keep 
going  considerable.  But  the  kind  of  rest  I  want 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  281 

is  what  the  'possum  longs  for  in  the  fall,  when  the 
niggers  are  round  of  nights  with  pine-knots  and 
guns." 

"  You  mean  you're  hunted  by  people.  You  see," 
said  Freddy,  "  American  ladies  are  always  welcome 
over  here.  When  they're  piquant  and  clever,  and 
have  got  heaps  of  squirrel-coloured  hair  and  big, 
coffee-coloured  eyes  with  yellow  lights  in  them" — 
the  eyes  he  described  did  not  lower  their  long  lashes 
the  hundredth  of  an  inch — "  then  they're  especially 
welcome." 

"More  especially,"  said  Miss  Van  Cupper, 
"  when  they  happen  to  belong  to  what  your  society 
papers  call  the  '  millionocracy.'  If  Poppa  hadn't 
founded  the  United  States  Chewing-Gum  Trust,  and 
secured  the  absolute  monopoly  of  the  article,  say, 
do  you  suppose  for  one  minute  these  blue-blooded 
English  aristocrats  would  take  any  notice  of  Momma 
and  me?" 

"  I  have  not  yet  had  the  pleasure,"  said  Freddy, 
"  of  being  presented  to  Mrs.  Van  Cupper." 

"  I  guess  you  won't  ever  have  it,"  said  Miss  Van 
Cupper.  "  Momma  sailed  for  Amurrica  yesterday. 
She'd  gone  right  through  the  London  season  with 
me,  and  she  was  about  tuckered  out.  She's  going 
home  to  hire  a  cheap  flat  in  an  unfashionable  quarter, 
and  she  means  to  have  a  hired  help  and  do  her  own 
cooking,  and  wear  a  wrapper  all  day.  That's  her 
idea  of  a  rest.  Now  mine  is  to  do  a  tour  of  this 
cunning  little  green  England  of  yours  in  an  auto- 


282      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

mobile,  with  my  best  friend,  Sadie  Vermont.  She's 
real  sweet,  is  Sadie." 

"  I  can  only  repeat  that  my  motor  is  at  your 
service,"  said  Freddy.  "  It's  a  capital  machine  !" 

"  I  meant  to  buy  a  real  convenient  large 
one,"  said  Miss  Van  Cupper;  "but  if  you 
will  kindly  say  how  much  you  would  accept  for 
yours " 

"  Dear  lady,  mine  is  not  for  sale,"  said  Freddy, 
rather  red.  "  If  you  will  use  it,  I  shall  be  charmed, 
if  not " 

"  You  will  excuse  me,  won't  you  ?"  said  Miss  Van 
Cupper,  "  for  supposing  you  wanted  to  trade." 

"Of  —  of  course!"  Freddy  stuttered,  blushing 
healthily. 

"You're  real  generous,  and  I'll  take  the  very 

greatest  care "  began  Miss  Van  Cupper. 

"You'll  forgive  me  again  for  asking  whether  the 
acceptance  of  such  an  offer  as  you  have  made  me 
could  be  considered  as  anyways  compromising  to  a 
young  lady  ?"  Her  bright  eyes  consulted  Freddy's 
frankly.  "You  ain't  compelled  to  marry  a  gentle- 
man because  you've  borrowed  his  automobile,  are 
you?" 

"  Great  Scot,  no  !"  said  Freddy. 

"I  breathe  more  freely,"  admitted  Miss  Van 
Cupper,  "because,  though  you're  heir  to  a  title  and 
as  handsome  as  can  be,  you're  real  poor,  though 
you're  the  son  of  a  lord — not  that  that's  uncommon. 
But,  you  see,  Poppa  says  the  husband  I've  got 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  283 

to  have  must  be  something  in  the  earl  line,  if  all  the 
dukes  are  bespoken.  Poppa  won't  invest  his  millions 
in  anything  lower  down.  He's  got  a  cinch  on  that 
idea,  and  I  dunno  as  he  isn't  right.  And  so — no 
matter  how  nice  I  thought  you,  and  I  do — it — it 
wouldn't  pan  out — not  nohow.  And  I  said  what  I 
did  about  borrowing  your  automobile  because  once, 
when  I  accepted  a  bouquet  from  an  Italian  count, 
and  wrote  a  note  of  thanks,  Poppa  had  to  pay  ten 
thousand  dollars  to  quiet  him  and  get  me  off.  It 
was  a  passionate  proposal  of  marriage,  in  the 
Language  of  Flowers,  you  see.  .  .  .  I've  learned 
that  language  since,  and  you  bet  I  don't  take  tulips 
and  roses  from  anything  under  an  unmarried 
marquis." 

"  Quite  right,"  said  Freddy.  "  And  I  hope  Miss 
Vermont  will  be  as  careful." 

"My!"  exclaimed  Miss  Van  Cupper,  elevating 
her  pretty  eyebrows.  "  Why,  Sadie  hasn't  a  dollar 
to  her  back.  She's  a  school  teacher — if  she  is  real 
elegant,  and  comes  of  one  of  the  oldest  families  in 
the  States.  And  she  wanted  a  vacation  in  Europe, 
and  that's  why  I  brought  her  along." 

Freddy  fixed  his  eyeglass  in  his  eye  reflectively. 
"I  should  like  to  know  a  poor  American  girl — for 
a  change,"  he  said,  plaintively.  "It  would  be  so 
new." 

"  I  guess  you  will  know  Sadie  some  day,"  said 
Miss  Van  Cupper. 

11 1  shall  pant,  figuratively,  for  that  day's  dawn- 


284     EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

ing,"  said  Freddy.  "Meanwhile,  my  car  stands 
underneath  your  windows" — Miss  Van  Cupper 
occupied  a  palatial  suite  of  apartments  at  the 
Harlton — "dying  to  know  whether  you  approve  of 
her  or  otherwise?" 

Miss  Van  Cupper  peeped  between  the  lace 
draperies  at  me  as  I  basked  in  the  sunshine  of  the 
Haymarket,  between  a  smart  coupt  and  a  glittering 
drag.  She  said  I  was  "as  cunning  as  could  be," 
and  she  accepted  me  as  a  loan,  for  July.  And,  at 
that  moment,  Miss  Sadie  Vermont  came  into  the 
room  so  noiselessly  that  Freddy  did  not  hear  her, 
and  jumped  violently  when  he  turned  and  saw  her 
standing  behind  him.  She  was  nothing  to  look  at, 
Freddy  said  to  himself — and  then  she  seemed  every- 
thing. 

It  is  difficult  to  describe  her.  She  was  dressed  in 
diaphanous  brown  muslin,  with  a  tiny  yellow  leaf 
on  it.  She  was  small  and  slight,  and  ivory-pale. 
She  had  great  widely-opened  eyes  of  an  indescrib- 
able colour,  emerald-green  in  some  lights,  blue-black 
in  others,  in  others  brownish-blue.  She  was  crowned 
with  folds  upon  folds  of  rich  hair,  perfectly  straight, 
lustreless,  inky  black.  Her  skin  was  an  unflushed 
ivory,  and  she  was  as  slender  as  a  lily  on  its  stalk. 
Both  hands — such  delicate,  tiny  hands,  pink-nailed 
and  ringless — were  full  of  letters. 

"  I  have  brought  your  mail,  Nora,"  she  said  in  a 
voice  as  sweet  and  low  as  though  a  wood-dove  had 
been  suddenly  gifted  with  a  voice,  Freddy  thought, 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  285 

and  in  the  instant  Duchess  Helen's  brother  was 
fathoms  deep  in  love  —  with  a  school-teaching 
American  girl,  who  travelled  as  a  vacation 
secretary. 

"Mr.  Fosvil — Miss  Vermont,"  introduced  Miss 
Van  Cupper. 

Miss  Vermont  bowed,  very  slightly. 

"I'll  read  all  those  letters  by  and  by,  I  guess," 
said  Miss  Van  Cupper.  "  I  can  surmise  what  the 
bulk  of  'em  will  turn  out.  Proposals.  I've  had  as 
many  as  twenty  in  one  afternoon.  And  the  nerve 
of  the  men  just  astonishes  me,  every  time.  What 
I'm  going  to  do  now  is  to  plan  out  a  route  for  our 
automobile  tour,  with  Mr.  Fosvil." 

"Our  tour  with  Mr.  Fosvil?"  Miss  Vermont's 
delicate  eyebrows  moved  upwards. 

"That  girl  is  as  proud  as  an  empress,"  thought 
Freddy.  "  Is  America  full  of  school-marms  of  this 
type?" 

He  explained  that  he  had  offered  Miss  Van  Cupper 
the  use  of  his  car,  unhampered  by  the  society  of  the 
owner. 

"Nora  wants  to  drive  from  London  to  Edin- 
burgh," said  Miss  Vermont. 

"It's  a  stunning  route,"  said  Freddy,  eagerly; 
"and  Strongholdness  is  on  the  road.  I  will  write 
to  my  sister;  she  would  be  charmed  if  you  looked 
her  up.  She  will  be  there  by  the  sixth,  because  of 
the  babies." 

"  I  do  not  think  we  need  trouble  the  Duchess," 


286      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

said  Miss  Vermont,  calmly.  Miss  Van  Cupper 
opened  her  eyes. 

"  But  we  will,  I  guess — that  is,  if  her  Grace  will 
be  good  enough  to  allow  us.  Why,  I've  heard  all 
sorts  of  things  about  Strongholdness  Castle.  It  was 
built  with  blood  for  mortar,  in  the  eleventh  century. 
There's  a  mysterious  chamber  in  it,  and  the  walls 
are  full  of  Oliver  Cromwell's  crossbow-bolts  and 
cannon-balls." 

"  As  you  please,"  said  the  proud,  gentle  voice. 

"An  old  place  of  ours  is  on  the  route,  too;  you 
might  take  a  peep  at  it,"  said  Freddy  to  the  heiress. 
"It's  a  moated  priory  -  house,  very  tumbledown 
— Fosvil  Chase,  in  Bedfordshire.  Henry  VIII. 
stole  it  from  the  monks  and  gave  it  to  Simon  de 
Fosvil  in  1533.  We  have  a  tumbledown  old  castle 
in  North  Wales,  but  the  Chase  was  always  the  place 
I  liked  best  as  a  boy.  .  .  .  My  father  never  goes 
there;  he  prefers  the  Continent,  or  London — says 
the  moat  is  rheumatic,  and  the  old  oaks  give  him 
the  blues.  There's  an  avenue  of  'em  two  miles 
long.  Yes,  my  father  hates  the  Chase.  .  .  .  As 
for  me,  I  think  it  the  dearest  place  in  the  world  !" 

"Then  why  don't  you  live  there?  I  guess  I 
would,"  said  Miss  Van  Cupper.  Replying,  Freddy 
looked  not  at  the  heiress  but  at  the  heiress's 
secretary. 

"  I'm  too  poor,"  he  said,  bluntly. 

Miss  Vermont  looked  him  full  in  the  face.  Her 
faintly-rose-tinted  lips  were  apart,  showing  the  small 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  287 

white  teeth.  Her  great  eyes  were  interested  and 
kind. 

"  You  may  be  rich  enough — some  day,"  she  said, 
diffidently. 

"  No,"  said  Freddy,  drawing  a  short  hard  breath. 
"It's  mortgaged  to  the  last  acre  of  ground;  my 
father  is  not  the  best  of  business  men.  Some  day  a 
millionaire  will  ask  me  down  there  to  stay,  and  he 
will  have  pulled  down  the  old  carved  fireplaces  and 
turned  the  chapel  into  a  ballroom  and  stripped  the 
ivy  from  the  walls  and  drained  the  moat.  .  .  .  And 
I  shall  be  asked  to  admire  his  improvements — when 
I  want  to  shoot  him.  Good-bye.  I'll  send  the  car 
round  when  it  has  been  cleaned,  and,  I  do  hope," 
he  added,  as  he  took  the  slim  little  secretary's  hand, 
"that  you'll  have  a  jolly  holiday." 

He  went  away  quickly. 

"Oh,  Freddy,  you  downcast  young  man  !"  said 
Petrolina,  gleefully,  as  we  tooted  up  the  Haymarket 
towards  Piccadilly,  "if  your  father  is  a  bad  man 
of  business,  the  same  can't  be  said  of  you,  my  dear. 
You  have  brought  off  the  cleverest  stroke  you  ever 
made  in  your  whole  life  of  twenty-six  years,  and 
the  best  of  it  is  that  you're  not  aware  of  it.  Now 
we're  going  to  be  cleaned  and  oiled.  Freddy  will 
see  to  everything  himself  most  conscientiously.  And 
there  will  be  a  plaid  of  the  Kineddar  tartan  folded 
over  the  back  of  the  seat,  and  a  sprig — no,  two 
sprigs  of  heather — though  heather  is  barely  yet  in 
bloom — pinned  to  the  cushions,  and  the  route 


288      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

pricked  out  on  a  map  with  crosses  in  green  pencil 
for  Fosvil  Chase  and  Strongholdness.  .  .  .  And 
for  whom  is  all  this  trouble  taken  ?  Guess  I  Not  for 
the  heiress — but  for  the  secretary.  Ha,  ha,  ha  !" 

Freddy  got  a  letter  of  acknowledgement  from  Miss 
Van  Cupper,  Petrolina  told  me,  written  in  a  par- 
ticularly neat,  business-like  hand,  possibly  the 
secretary's.  It  had  a  postscript : 

"  I  have  been  looking — I  mean,  Sadie  has  been 
looking  up  your  name  in  the  Peerage.  And  I  see 
you  are  an  earl's  son,  though  you're  only  called 
honourable.  That  is,  of  course,  because  your  elder 
brother  is  a  viscount.  Therefore,  I  do  trust  you  will 
overlook  what  I  said  to-day.  The  recollection  of  it 
has  made  me  feel  considerable  cheap  ever  since. 
Thank  you  ever  so  for  sending  the  motor." 

"There  was  an  addendum  in  a  delicate,  upright 
hand,"  said  Petrolina,  giggling  : 

"  '  We  so  much  regret  that  we  shall  not  be  able 
to  visit  Fosvil  Chase  !' 

"  '  Now,  I  suppose  that  is  the  Van  Cupper's  fist,' ' 
said  Freddy.  "  He  kissed  the  other — you  know  the 
way  he  did  it,  my  dear  ! — and  went  on  talking  to 
himself  :  '  Perhaps  it's  as  well  that  they  can't  drive 
through  the  Chase.  Medstock  writes  me  that  the 
Highland  cattle  Nell  sent  three  years  ago  are  getting 
quite  dangerous  to  people  driving  or  walking  through 
the  park,  or  would-be  picnic-parties.  And  Lazarus 
and  Simon  won't  wait — that's  another  bit  of  news 
he  sends  me.  The  estate  isn't  properly  entailed — 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  289 

they'll  foreclose  after  Christmas  if  the  principal  and 
interest  aren't  paid  up  then,  and  .  .  .  oh  !  it's  a 
sweet  letter.  Comforting  and  cheering,  very,  to  a 
pauper  who's  in  love  with  another  pauper.'  And  he 
tramped  up  and  down  his  chambers  until  he  was 
sick  of  tramping,  and  then  told  his  man  to  pack  a 
portmanteau — and  where  do  you  think  he  has  gone, 
my  dear?  Can't  imagine?  Stupid  Automobile! 
Down  to  Fosvil  Chase  to  bid  the  old  oaks  good-bye. 
He  had  better  be  careful  of  the  Highland  cattle  him- 
self. There  is  one  bull,  a  shaggy,  white  creature 
with  a  red,  wicked  eye.  'The  De'il,'  the  Scots 
herdsman-keeper  calls  him  —  and  he  deserves  the 
name.  .  .  .  Now,  here  are  OUT  two  Americans. 
The  secretary  has  style,  don't  you  think  ?  Odd,  that 
she  should  take  the  driver's  seat — but  she  can  drive, 
and  our  heiress — the  Chewing-Gum  Princess,  as  the 
New  York  papers  call  her — can't  for  peanuts.  A 
tiny  hand  on  the  driving-wheel  and  a  small — quite 
a  Cinderella-like — foot  on  the  pedal ;  but  both  have 
had  plenty  of  experience.  The  road  won't  get 
interesting  until  we  have  left  Doncaster  well  behind 
us  on  our  second  day's  journey.  So  these  girls  will 
talk  about  their  own  affairs.  If  you  listen  well,  my 
dear,  you  will  find  out  why  our  pretty  Freddy  has 
done  an  excellent  stroke  of  business.  I  puzzle  you  ? 
He,  he,  he!" 

And  thus  the  provoking  creature  continued  until, 
dusty  but  in  unimpaired  condition,  we  entered 
Bedfordshire,  and  turning  aside  from  the  Great 


290      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

North  Road,  passed  in  by  the  stately,  ruinous  lodge- 
gates  of  Fosvil  Chase. 

"  My  land  !"  I  heard  the  heiress  say.  "  And  you 
wrote  a  postscript  to  that  poor,  dear  boy  to  tell  him 
you  wouldn't  have  time  to  look  at  his  Tudor  oaks. 
Well,  of  all  the  contradictory  creatures  on  this  earth, 
you're  the  most  so,  Nora  !" 

"She  means  Sadie,"  I  said,  and  Petrolina 
sniggered. 

"Of  course  she  does.  I  must  admit,  my  dear, 
that  you  have  a  very  clear  comprehension  of  things 
that  are  under  your  front  lamps." 

I  snorted  a  little  as  I  drove  the  burnt  gas  out  of 
my  cylinder.  I  was  five  years  old  and  had  seen  a 
good  deal  of  hard  wear  and  tear.  And  I  had  never 
quite  got  over  Frickham's  mad  race  in  pursuit  of 
Madame  Henriette.  And  there  had  been  a  meddle- 
some ostler  at  Biggleswade  who  had — in  the  absence 
of  my  chauffeur — insisted  on  opening  my  bonnet 
and  poking  about  inside.  A  cone  on  my  wheel  ball 
race  wanted  renewing,  perhaps,  or  the 

"Tut,  tut !"  said  Petrolina,  "  what  a  fuss  you  are 
making,  my  dear." 

"The  house  is  about  two  miles  distant,"  said 
Miss  Vermont,  as  the  heiress  entreated  to  know  "  if 
anything  was  wrong?"  "We  will  run  on  under 
the  shade  of  these  glorious  oaks — no  wonder  Mr. 
Fosvil  said  he  loved  them — and  then  while  we  are 
looking  at  the  picture-gallery  and  the  chapel,  and 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  291 

the  other  lovely  old  things,  Willis  can  get  down  and 
overhaul  the  engine." 

Willis,  relegated  to  the  back  seat,  touched  his  cap. 

"  I  suppose  those  shaggy  white  things  are  deer," 
said  Miss  Van  Cupper.  "  Look,  Nora,  how  tame 
they  are.  One  of  them  is  coming  to  meet  us,  the 
darling.  Well,  this  is  real  rural  England,  or  my 
name  ain't " 

"  Hush  !"  whispered  the  secretary.  "  I  do  wish 
you  would  be  careful.  The  chauffeur  belongs  to 
Mr.  Fosvil  as  well  as  the  car,  and  you've  called  me 
'  Nora '  twice  in  the  last  ten  minutes.  As  for  your 
tame  deer,  it  is  no  more  a  deer  than  I  am.  What  did 
you  say,  Willis?  A  Highland  bull — and  they  are 
dreadfully  vicious.  .  .  .  Don't  be  frightened, 
Sadie"  —  I  wondered  why  she  called  Miss  Van 
Cupper  by  her  own  name — "  we'll  simply  turn  round 
and  run  back  to  the  lodge." 

And  she  grasped  the  lever.  But  something  was 
wrong  with  me.  I  felt  it  with  a  shudder  of  despair. 
The  stud  was  in  the  second  notch,  but  I  continued, 
coughing,  spitting,  and  rumbling,  to  bowl  along 
the  broad,  mossy  avenue,  under  the  noble  oaks. 
And  the  red-eyed,  shaggy,  pointed,  sharp-horned 
creature  before  me,  lowered  his  bossy  head  and  pre- 
pared for  battle. 

"Stop  the  car!  Stop!"  screamed  Miss  Van 
Cupper,  and  her  companion  stopped  me  indeed,  but 
even  as  I  halted  the  bull  charged. 


292      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

Crash  ! 

At  the  tremendous  shock  of  the  animal's  impact 
I  lost  consciousness. 

I  think  I  heard  screams — I  am  not  sure.  I 
emitted  smoke  and  flame,  I  believe.  When  I  became 
clearly  aware  of  things,  I  knew  I  was  on  fire.  My 
petrol  had  exploded,  and  the  fierce  white  flame, 
bursting  from  every  cranny  of  my  buckling  engine- 
box,  roared  high.  There  was  a  horrible  smell  of 
singeing  hair  and  charring  meat.  That  came  from 
a  dead  bull,  lying  partly  over  me.  He  was  a  gallant 
fellow  and  had  made  his  last  charge. 

But  my  passengers — my  charges — my  chauffeur  ! 
Even  in  the  agonies  of  conflagration  I  could  think 
of  them. 

"They  are  quite  safe,  my  dear,"  said  a  cynical 
voice  I  knew  to  be  Petrolina's;  "they  jumped  out 
as  the  bull  charged,  and  nobody  is  more  than  a 
scratch  the  worse,  except  the  pretty  secretary — the 
attractive  pauper  of  poor  Freddy's  waking  and 
sleeping  dreams — she  has  twisted  her  ankle.  He 
carried  her  all  the  way  to  the  house."  She 
chuckled. 

"  Who  ?"  I  panted.  "  Oh,  will  nobody  come  and 
put  me  out?" 

"  Here  come  some  labourers  with  tarpaulins," 
said  Petrolina.  "You  will  be  a  nice  spectacle,  I 
can  tell  you,  when  they  have  put  you  out.  Ah  !  my 
dear,  we  have  taken  our  last  spin  together,  you 
and  I!" 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  293 

"  At  any  rate,  I  killed  the  bull,"  I  said,  groaning ; 
"  that  is  some  consolation." 

"You're  wrong,  my  dear,"  snapped  Petrolina, 
"  the  bull  had  picked  himself  up  and  was  preparing 
for  a  second  charge,  or  perhaps  to  chase  the  ladies, 
when  Freddy  shot  him.  He  was  strolling  with  his 
gun,  and  he  came  upon  the  scene  in  time  to  give 
'  The  De'il '  the  contents  of  a  shot-cartridge,  right 
in  the  middle  of  his  stupid  brain.  And  then  he 
carried  the  lovely  Miss  Vermont  to  the  house.  That 
interesting  pauper  has  made  a  very  deep  impression, 
my  dear.  And  Freddy,  as  I  said  before,  is  a 
lucky Here  are  the  men  with  the  tarpaulins." 

They  put  me  out  with  difficulty,  and  drenched  me 
with  bucketfuls  of  water  from  a  pond,  to  cool  me,  and 
then — a  shattered,  buckled,  cinderous  wreck — I 
was  towed  by  a  cart-horse  to  the  stables. 

"Good-bye,  my  dear,  for  the  present.  I  am 
going  to  see  after  our  young  people  ! ' '  said  Petrolina. 
And  presently  she  was  back  in  the  highest  spirits. 

"They  are  getting  along  excellently,"  she  re- 
ported. "  Freddy  has  sent  for  the  Vicar's  wife  to 
play  chaperon  and  propriety  in  general,  whilst  he 
plays  host  to  the  heiress  and  the  secretary.  Fortu- 
nately some  of  the  cleanest  of  the  old  rooms  are 
aired,  and  the  housekeeper  has  sent  for  the  North 
Lodge-keeper's  wife,  who  was  cook  here  in  the  good 
old  days.  As  for  Miss  Van  Cupper  and  her  secre- 
tary, they  haven't  a  thread  left  to  wear  except  what 
they  have  got  on  them — their  luggage  has  been 


294      EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURES 

burned,  poor  dears.  But  they  have  telegraphed  to 
the  heiress's  maids — who  were  left  at  the  Harlton, 
and  the  necessary  garments  will  be  here  to-morrow." 

Later  she  said  :  "  He  had  the  assurance  to  carry 
the  secretary  down  to  the  dining-room,  and  leave 
the  heiress  to  toddle  along  behind  the  Vicar's  wife. 
There's  respect  for  wealth  !  There's  a  sense  of  what 
is  due  to " 

"  To  grace  and  beauty  !"  I  put  in. 

"He  told  her  to-night,  in  the  old  Queen  Anne 
drawing-room,  smelling  of  moths  and  ancient  pot- 
pourri, that  he  loved  her,  and  has  asked  her  whether 
she  could  be  content  to  marry  a  poor  fellow,  not  poor 
through  extravagance  of  his  own,  but  of  others — he 
stopped  at  others — and  she  knew  that  he  meant  his 
father.  He  has  told  her  about  his  brother  — 
paralysed  for  life  by  a  fall  in  a  steeplechase,  and 
slowly  dying,  and  about  his  beautiful  sister,  Duchess 
Nell,  and  about  his  one  stroke  of  good  fortune — 
the  money  he  won  at  Monte  Carlo.  And  she  has 
told  him — nothing  at  all !  But  to-morrow  night, 
when  she  comes  down  to  dinner  with  a  bankrupt 
empress's  jewels  gleaming  in  her  hair  and  round 
her  lovely  throat,  she  will  tell  him  something." 

"And  that " 

"  That  will  be,  my  dear,  that  she  is  not  Miss  Sadie 
Vermont,  the  secretary,  but  Miss  Nora  Van  Cupper, 
the  heiress  to  Mr.  Van  Cupper's  millions.  She  will 
tell  him  that  she  practised  her  deception  to  get  a 
little  rest  from  the  people  who  are  always  pursuing 


OF  AN  AUTOMOBILE  295 

the  Chewing-Gum  Princess.  But  that  will  not  be 
quite  the  truth.  The  truth  is  that  she  wanted  to  buy 
with  her  poverty  what  she  could  never  buy  were 
she  possessed  of  all  the  riches  of  the  dead  Incas  of 
Peru — the  love  of  an  honest  man.  And  so,  good- 
night, Automobile,  my  dear.  You're  a  fearful  ruin 
to  look  at.  Still,  we  have  had  a  pleasant  time 
together,  haven't  we  ?  Now  it  is  over — without  your 
getting  as  far  as  Edinburgh.  But  your  little  affair 
with  the  bull,  and  the  resulting  flare-up,  has  made 
Freddy  a  happy  lover.  .  .  .  What  is  that  you 
say?" 

"You  meant  it  all  from  the  first?"  I  cried. 

There  was  no  reply. 


THE  SILVER  BIRCH. 

VIVIELLE  had  been  crying,  it  was  plain  to  see ;  there 
were  red  circles  round  her  great  blue  eyes  and  tear 
smudges  under  them,  and  her  pocket-handkerchief 
was  a  mere  little  wet  dab  of  cambric.  Her  floss  silk 
of  hair,  the  colour  of  the  ripe  corn,  was  tangled. 
Every  now  and  then  her  little  white  upper  teeth  bit 
into  her  red,  pouting  underlip,  and  a  sob  heaved 
her  childish  breast  under  the  dainty,  filmy  silk 
muslin  blouse — a  blouse  that  had  come  from  Paris, 
like  everything  else  Vivielle  ever  wore. 

And  what  was  the  cause  of  her  grief  ?  Not  that  she 
had  been  naughty ;  she  was  hardly  ever  that,  they 
said — the  classical  tutor  and  the  professor  of  music, 
and  the  teacher  of  fencing  and  calisthenics,  and  the 
dancing  mistress  were  all  agreed  that  Mademoiselle 
was  the  most  docile  of  pupils ;  and  the  German 
fraulein  and  the  English  nurse,  and  the  Swiss  maid 
and  the  French  one,  declared  their  little  lady  to 
be  sweetness  itself.  But  her  mother,  Madame  la 
Comtesse,  had  said  it  was  a  thousand  pities  that  her 
only  child,  the  heiress  of  a  princely  fortune  and  the 
sole  hope  of  one  of  the  noblest  families  of  France, 
fortunate  in  the  possession  of  beauty  and  intelligence 

296 


THE  SILVER  BIRCH  297 

as  well  as  of  birth  and  breeding,  should  be  so 
awkward,  so  gauche,  so  angular  in  all  her  move- 
ments, so  clumsy  at  calisthenics,  so  ungraceful  in 
the  dance.  And  Vivielle  knew  it  was  the  truth. 

"She  will  be  clever,"  said  M.  le  Comte,  oracu- 
larly. "She  will  write  novels  like  Gyp,  or  paint 
like  Louise  Barcella." 

"  Belle  vocation!"  commented  Madame  la  Com- 
tesse,  with  a  shrug.  "  Ink  on  the  ringers — or  paint. 
Which,  as  a  lover,  would  you  choose  to  kiss?" 

"It  is  scarcely  a  question  of  kissing  yet,"  said 
Monsieur,  "  seeing  that  Vivielle  is  still  a  mere  child. 
When  she  is  marriageable,  she  will  be  so  great  an 
heiress  that  the  question  will  never  need  to  be  asked. 
A  man  does  not  merely  kiss  the  hand  of  the  woman 
who  has  paid  his  debts  and  established  him  in  life. 
Ma  foi,  no  !  but  her  feet,  but  the  ground  she  walks 
on.  Is  it  not  so,  Charles  ?" 

And  Monsieur  Charles,  the  handsome,  negligent, 
graceful  hussar,  had  burst  out  laughing. 

"  How  do  I  know  ?  I  who  need  so  little  !  A  five- 
franc  dinner,  a  play,  an  opera-bouffe,  and  a  couple 
of  rooms  at  the  barracks,  furnished  with  whitewash 
and  packing-cases." 

"  And  coats  from  Aumonier,  and  uniforms  from 
Roubaix,  and  diamonds  from  the  Maison  Piffany, 
to  say  nothing  of  Blackfern  toilettes,  and — oh,  in- 
numerable bonbons  and  bouquets,"  put  in  Madame 
la  Comtesse. 

Charles  held  up  his  hands  for  mercy. 


298  THE  SILVER  BIRCH 

"  I  give  in — it  is  too  hot  to  defend  myself.  But 
of  the  little  one,  what  nonsense  to  despair.  One  of 
these  days  she  will  learn  the  secret  of  charm,  she  will 
solve  the  mystery  of  grace.  Not  the  grace  of  a 
Journal  des  Modes,  but  the  other  kind.  Then  " — he 
kissed  his  fingers  and  blew  the  kiss  away — "  we  shall 
find  her  calm  as  a  forest  lake,  stately  as  a  silver 
pheasant,  graceful  as  a  silver  birch,  the  loveliest 
and  most  graceful  thing  of  all.  Adieu  !  I  go  to  shoot 
your  turnips,  since  partridges  there  are  none." 

Vivielle  had  heard  all,  without  meaning  to  listen, 
which  was  bad  form  and  ill-bred,  and  all  the  things 
one  would  have  preferred  not  to  be.  The  wide 
balcony  of  the  drawing-room  had  a  little  wrought- 
iron  staircase  leading  down  into  the  garden,  and  she 
had  been  sitting  half-way  down,  with  apricots  in 
her  lap  and  an  English  book  in  her  hand.  Her 
head  was  whirling  as  she  recalled  what  Monsieur 
Charles  had  said  : 

"One  of  these  days  she  will  learn  the  secret  of 
charm.  .  .  .  We  shall  find  her  calm  as  a  forest 
lake,  stately  as  a  silver  pheasant,  graceful  as  a  silver 
birch,  the  loveliest  and  most  graceful  thing  of 

all "     Vivielle,  who  turned  her  toes  in  at  the 

dancing  lesson,  to  the  despair  of  M.  Roland,  and 
could  never  make  her  reverence  graceful  enough  to 
please  her  grandmother.  Clearly  the  thing  most 
needful  was  to  see  a  forest  lake,  to  look  upon  a  silver 
pheasant,  to  find  a  silver  birch.  She  could  not  recall 
ever  having  seen  any  of  these  things.  So,  crying 


THE  SILVER  BIRCH  299 

still  a  little,  she  had  said  to  herself  :  "  I  shall  go  and 
find  them,  and  then " 

The  park  of  the  chateau  was  land  reclaimed  from 
the  heart  of  the  forest,  one  of  the  historic  forests  of 
France.  For  miles  it  stretched,  a  vast  ocean  of 
waving  foliage  and  soft  green  grass,  bathed  in 
golden  sunshine  or  the  silver  rays  of  the  moon, 
roaring  the  song  of  the  tempest  or  sighing  the  love 
song  of  the  south-west  wind,  with  its  burden  of  tears. 
Many  of  the  great  oaks  were  twenty  feet  in  girth, 
some  of  the  vast  beeches  could  have  sheltered  half 
a  regiment  under  their  spreading  boughs.  There 
were  troops  of  shy  deer,  and  many  a  fierce  old  boar 
sharpened  his  tusks  on  a  tree  stump  in  his  chosen, 
secret  lair,  and  dreamed  of  men,  and  horses,  and 
horns,  and  the  fierce  hounds  that  never  turn 
aside  to  follow  the  track  of  rabbit,  hare,  or  roe- 
buck, but  only  his.  There  would  be  a  hunt  to- 
morrow, Vivielle  knew ;  two  hours  before  daybreak, 
the  foresters,  to  each  man  a  hound,  would  go  out 
with  lanterns  to  seek  the  track.  Monsieur  Charles 
was  the  Master,  and  wore  the  myrtle-green  uniform 
with  pale  blue  facings  with  distinguished  grace. 

Who  was  like  Monsieur  Charles?  Who  was  so 
gay,  so  polite,  so  perfectly  at  ease  ?  A  great  duchess 
had  called  him  perfectly  comme  il  faut,  and  could 
there  be  higher  praise  than  that? 

It  was  a  splendid  autumn  morning.  The  dew 
hung  upon  the  grass  in  pearls,  and  sparkled  in  the 
spiders'  webs  like  diamonds.  Vivielle's  thin  slippers 


300  THE  SILVER  BIRCH 

and  silken  stockings  were  soon  soaked  through. 
The  air  was  full  of  sweet  woodland  smells  and  float- 
ing gossamers,  "Our  Lady's  threads,"  as  the 
peasant-women  called  them.  The  green  glades,  full 
of  shifting  beryl-coloured  lights  and  golden  shadows, 
opened  out  one  after  another  before  Vivielle,  and 
closed  again  ;  the  forest  seemed  to  welcome  her  with 
open  arms. 

Presently  the  great  trees,  their  boles  all  covered 
with  grey  and  orange  lichen,  fell  back,  and  ranged 
themselves  in  a  circle,  and  the  grass  within  the  circle 
became  short,  sweet  emerald  moss,  upon  which  lay 
scattered  the  red-gold  of  fallen  beech  leaves.  The 
trees  that  sprang  from  the  moss  were  slender  young 
things,  robed  in  the  most  delicate  of  foliage,  and  in 
the  middle  of  the  clear  space  there  were  none.  A 
patch  of  the  sky,  intensely  clear,  intensely  calm, 
unspeakably  blue,  seemed  to  have  fallen  on  the 
emerald  moss.  Then  birds,  orioles  and  swallows 
and  thrushes,  rose  from  the  brink,  and  a  hind  lifted 
her  wet  muzzle  and  fled  to  the  deep  covert  of  the 
woods,  and 

"  It  is  a  lake,  a  forest  lake  !"  cried  Vivielle. 

She  threw  herself  down,  panting,  upon  a  great 
boulder,  draped  with  lichens,  purple  and  scarlet  and 
gold,  and  shaped  like  a  throne.  She  had  never 
before  wandered  in  the  forest,  never  before  suspected 
what  loveliness  lay  hid  in  its  deep  heart.  For  this 
was  loveliness. 

"  Still,  remote,  pure  and  unsullied,  mirroring  the 


THE  SILVER  BIRCH  301 

sky  in  all  its  changes,  yet  itself  unchanged,  whether 
freezing  in  the  icy  arms  of  winter,  or  rippled  by  the 
pattering  rains  of  spring,  or  reflecting  the  lightnings 
of  the  hot,  cloudy  skies  of  autumn.  .  .  .  Refresh- 
ment to  the  thirsty  lip,  rest  to  the  weary  eye,  joy  of 
joys  to  the  pure  lover  of  beauty  at  its  loveliest,  and 
yet  content  to  be  beautiful,  unpraised  and  unseen ; 
always  pure,  always  constant,  always  true.  A 
woman  who  should  be  like  a  forest  lake  would  be 
beautiful  indeed." 

Vivielle  was  sure  a  voice  had  spoken ;  she  could 
not  be  sure  whose  the  voice  had  been.  The  golden 
beetles  ran  over  the  sunny  spots  upon  the  grey 
boulders,  the  ants  laboured  amongst  the  forests  of 
the  moss-stems,  a  little  sun-warm  breeze  played  to 
and  fro,  hiding  among  the  brake-ferns  like  a  child. 
There  was  a  thick  covert  of  these  on  the  distant 
shore  of  the  little  lake.  They  waved  and  parted, 
and  a  bird  like  a  living  jewel  made  of  many  precious 
gems,  moved  to  the  brink  to  drink.  It  was  as 
dazzling  as  a  white  flame,  its  eyes  were  rubies,  its 
train  swept  the  moss  like  cloth  of  silver,  as  it  moved 
and  looked  to  this  side  and  that,  and  drank  and 
preened  its  gleaming  silver  plumage;  its  beauty 
moved  the  child  to  ecstasy. 

"What  is  it?  oh  !  what  is  it?"  she  said  aloud, 
and  the  mysterious  voice  said  in  answer  : 

"That  is  a  Silver  Pheasant.  From  the  banks  of 
the  Phasis  in  Colchis  it  was  brought  into  Europe 
in  times  remote  from  these,  some  say  by  the  Argo- 


302  THE  SILVER  BIRCH 

nauts.  Phasianos  is  its  name  in  Greek,  and  it  is 
the  proudest  of  birds ;  it  will  not  live  or  feed  with 
the  common  varieties.  Yet  it  roosts  in  low  bushes, 
for  all  its  pride,  and  common  thievish  hands  most 
easily  capture  its  loveliness,  and  sell  its  flesh  in  the 
market,  and  make  dusting-brushes  of  its  sweeping 
train.  There  is  a  legend  that  it  was  once  a  bird  of 
the  skies — a  dweller  in  the  loftiest  tree-tops — and 
for  its  sin,  because  it  would  not  shade  with  its  wings 
a  dying  saint,  martyred  for  the  Faith  by  savages, 
who  drove  sharp  pegs  into  her  hands  and  feet  and 
crucified  her  to  a  tree — it  was  condemned  to  run 
upon  the  earth  like  a  common  barn-door  fowl,  and 
drag  its  dainty  plumage  in  the  mire.  A  woman 
who  should  recall  in  her  stately  grace,  in  her 
elegance  of  form,  and  charm  of  colouring,  a  Silver 
Pheasant — would  be  very  fair  to  see.  But  she 
should  not  scorn  her  inferiors,  and  she  should  always 
remember  that  the  sin  of  pride  and  lack  of  charity 
would  banish  her  from  the  tree-tops,  and  divorce 
her  from  the  clouds." 

"Ah,  who  are  you  that  speak?"  cried  Vivielle. 

There  was  a  rustling  sound  hard  by,  and  some 
drops  of  water,  as  cool  as  if  hoarded  from  the  morn- 
ing's dew  in  some  flower-cup  or  curled  leaf,  sprinkled 
her  face.  She  turned  her  head,  and  saw,  at  first, 
nothing  but  a  slender  tree  swaying  in  a  sudden 
breeze.  And  then  she  knew  that  the  tree  was  the 
speaker. 

"  I  am  the  Silver  Birch,"  it  said,  waving  its 
slender,  flexible  branches,  and  swaying  as  though 


THE  SILVER  BIRCH  303 

it  were  dancing.  "See  my  silvery  bark  set  off  by 
the  black  stole ;  my  shower  of  leaves,  silvery-green, 
bluish-silver.  There  are  many  dancers  in  the  forest, 
but  none  so  graceful  as  I.  The  old  peasant  folks 
will  tell  you  I  am  one  of  the  trees  that  grew  in 
Paradise.  The  Highlander  dyes  his  tartan  with  my 
bark.  In  Northern  Russia  there  are  whole  forests 
of  me,  no  other  tree  exists  in  Greenland ;  my  leaves 
are  a  wholesome  medicine,  and  a  love-charm  for 
the  Esquimaux  girls.  Travel  as  the  explorer  may, 
northwards  or  southwards,  I  am  the  last  tree  to 
disappear  on  the  edge  of  the  Arctic  zone,  the " 

"  But  I  cannot  understand,"  Vivielle  pouted, 
"  how  a  woman  like  a  Silver  Birch  could  be  beauti- 
ful," and  the  tree  waved  and  rippled,  and  seemed 
to  laugh  with  its  swaying  branches. 

"  Don't  you  ?  Watch  me  when  the  storm  breaks 
— for  here  comes  one." 

The  sky  reflected  in  the  forest  lake  was  inky  blue. 
The  trees  bent  before  a  rushing  gale  that  drove 
sullen  masses  of  cloud  before  it.  The  Silver 
Pheasant  vanished  in  the  brake,  there  was  a  flash 
of  dazzling  light,  a  growl  of  thunder,  and  the  Silver 
Birch  curtseyed  to  the  Monarch  of  the  Storm.  It 
sank  to  the  earth,  trailing  its  wet  silvery-green  hair ; 
it  rose  and  waved  its  arms,  and  beckoned;  it 
swooned,  and  sprang  erect,  defiantly,  its  gleaming 
trunk  looking  like  the  bare  body  of  a  scourged 
wood-nymph  under  the  hissing  white  lashes  of  the 
rain.  Then  the  wind  fell.  No  more  a  fantastic 
spirit,  no  more  a  tortured  creature,  the  Silver  Birch 


304  THE  SILVER  BIRCH 

stood  erect,  slim,  fragrant,  dignified,  composed,  a 
great  lady  among  trees.  It  still  swayed  a  little,  as 
though  laughing.  Its  cool,  silvery  voice  asked  : 

"  How  did  you  like  that  ?" 

"  It  was — oh "    Vivielle  had  no  words. 

"The  storm  may  beat  upon  me,  the  rain  may 
scourge  me,"  said  the  Silver  Birch,  "but  though  I 
bend,  though  I  writhe,  I  rise  again  undaunted,  un- 
harmed in  beauty,  unaltered  in  grace.  A  woman 
who  should  take  the  usage  of  the  world  as  a 
Silver  Birch  takes  it  would  be  the  kind  of 
woman  your  Cousin  Charles  meant.  Adieu,  ma 
mignonne!" 

Vivielle  had  not  been  asleep.  But  certainly  her 
blue  eyes  had  been  shut,  her  head  thrown  back  upon 
one  lichened  boulder,  and  her  small,  diaphanously- 
clad  figure  comfortably  nestled  into  a  niche  between 
two  others,  when  Monsieur  Charles  came  lightly 
striding  over  the  moss.  He  was  alarmed  for  her  for 
an  instant,  then  he  smiled,  reassured. 

"  To  have  been  discussing  the  marriage  of  this — 
mere  baby.  How  premature  !"  he  said,  and  smiled 
again  as  he  touched  her  forehead  with  a  friendly 
kiss,  light  as  the  touch  of  a  butterfly's  wing. 
"Wake  up,  Vivielle!  You  have  been  lost  for 
hours.  Madame,  Mademoiselle,  the  Fraulein, 
Grettiche,  and  Marie  are  in  despair." 

Vivielle  awakened  and  opened  her  blue,  blue  eyes. 
They  rested,  unembarrassed,  upon  the  face  of 
Monsieur  Charles.  Then  she  rose  and  dropped  him 


THE  SILVER  BIRCH  305 

a  little  curtsey,  lightly  as  the  swaying  birch,  and 
gave  him  her  small  white  hand. 

"  I  thank  you,  Monsieur,  for  coming  to  seek  me. 
Now  you  shall  take  me  back  to  the  chateau." 

"  What  grace,  what  aplomb  !  I  never  noticed  it 
before.  And  Madame,  her  mother,  calls  her  awk- 
ward. Heresy!"  thought  Monsieur  Charles.  He 
had  intended  to  tell  Vivielle  of  the  stolen  kiss,  to 
claim,  laughingly,  his  forfeited  pair  of  gloves ;  he 
did  not  fulfil  his  intention. 

"This  is  a  very  beautiful  spot !"  he  said,  as  they 
turned  to  look  back  before  leaving  it. 

"  I  shall  call  it  my  study,"  said  Vivielle;  "  I  have 
learned  so  many  things  here." 

"What  have  you  learned?"  asked  Monsieur 
Charles. 

"  I  have  learned,"  she  said,  "  that  the  best  of  all 
things,  for  a  forest  lake,  or  for  a  woman,  is  to  keep 
calm,  and  clear,  and  always  reflect,  whatever  be  the 
weather,  the  face  of  the  sky.  And  I  have  learned 
that  for  a  Silver  Pheasant,  or  for  a  woman,  it  is  not 
well  to  be  proud — with  the  pride  that  scorns  mean 
companionships,  yet  never  lifts  itself  above  base 
things.  And,  however  the  world  may  treat  me  when 
I  am  no  longer  a  child,  I  shall  try  to  bear  its  usage 
like  the  Silver  Birch.  Look  at  it  now,  all  white  and 
shining  in  the  sunset." 

"  It  might  be  a  girl  at  her  first  Communion — or  a 
bride!"  said  Monsieur  Charles.  "You  will  be  a 
bride  one  of  these  days,  Vivielle,"  was  on  the  tip  of 

20 


306  THE  SILVER  BIRCH 

his  tongue,  but  he  kept  back  the  words.  Neverthe- 
less, as  they  trod  the  green  glades  of  the  forest 
together,  they  echoed  in  his  heart.  "  A  bride  some 
day.  .  .  .  And  whose?" 

"  Look  !"  said  M.  leComte,  standing  on  the  vine- 
draped  terrace  with  Madame  la  Comtesse,  as  the 
couple  approached  the  house.  He  touched  her 
jewelled  hand. 

"How  she  walks  .  .  .  what  has  come  to  the 
child  ?"  said  the  mother. 

"  How  old  were  you  when  we  were  married,  my 
dear  friend?"  asked  M.  le  Comte. 

"  Sixteen,"  said  Madame. 

"Very  good,"  said  M.  le  Comte.  "In  a  year, 
my  dear,  we  will  see  !" 

"  Ours  was  a  love  match  !"  said  his  wife. 

"There  will  be  no  departure  from  precedent  in 
the  next  instance,"  said  M.  le  Comte,  who  was  fond 
of  ornate  phrases,  and  had  a  singularly  keen  obser- 
vation . 

There  was  not. 


COUNTESS  AND  COUTURIERS. 

"WHAT  a  loss  to  Society,"  said  Lady  Pomphrey, 
"  or  that  brigade  of  the  society  division  which  prides 
itself  on  being  dressed  and  not  clothed,  was  the 
demise,  just  when  his  marvellous  creations  were 
gracing  the  most  exclusive  social  functions  on  the 
backs  of  the  smartest  women,  of  the  great  modiste  of 
Paris  and  London.  Who  dreamed  of  him  twenty 
or  even  fifteen  years  ago,  when  Worth  and  Doucet 
were  the  arbiters  of  fashion  ?  Yet  from  his  tiny 
place  of  business,  known  as  the  Maison  Lalanne, 
long  ago  merged  in  the  magnificent  establishment 
of  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  such  marvellous  creations 
came  that  connoisseurs  were  electrified,  and  exclu- 
sive mobs  of  would-be  clients  besieged  his  doors, 
shrieking  to  be  made  elegant,  striking,  original,  or 
distinguished,  at  his  own  price.  Passons  du  ddluge, 
the  tears  shed  by  the  two  thousand  midinettes  con- 
stantly employed  by  the  firm  ought  to  make  another. 
"  M.  Isidore  Paquin's  vogue  once  gained,  he  kept 
it  to  the  end,  unlike  Yvelin,  who  bloomed  into 
celebrity  as  suddenly  as  a  cactus  flowers,  to  relapse 
as  soon  into  obscurity,  and  who  is  now  quite  utterly 
forgotten.  It  was  in  1896  that  a  Duchesse  of  the 

307 


308      COUNTESS  AND  COUTURIERE 

Faubourg  Saint-Germain  said  to  me, '  You  must  go 
to  Yvelin,'  and  I  went.  She  was  the  client  who  had 
made  him.  A  creature  of  tiny  proportions,  exquisite 
as  a  Saxony  china  shepherdess,  with  her  fair  hair, 
pink  complexion,  and  green  sparkling  eyes,  her 
figure  graceful,  her  movements  lively  as  a  bird's,  her 
gay  and  brilliant  youth  shone  like  a  jewel  in  the 
coronet  of  the  aged  Duke  who  married  her,  seated 
in  the  bath-chair,  from  which,  without  aid,  he  never 
stirred,  and  the  fetes  and  parties,  in  planning  which 
she  took  the  keenest  pleasure,  cheered  up  the  vast 
mansion,  which  had  been  ruled  in  succession  by  the 
aristocratic  widower's  three  previous  wives. 

"  My  charming  friend  drove  me  in  her  carriage,  a 
vehicle  of  exquisite  luxury,  drawn  by  a  superb  pair 
of  bays,  to  the  atelier  of  her  protege.  The  gilded 
balconies  were  empurpled  with  a  climbing  wistaria 
in  bloom.  A  constant  stream  of  clients  poured  in 
and  out,  the  air  was  full  of  bright  laughter  and 
chatter,  the  young  persons,  in  severe  but  beautifully 
cut  black  robes,  who  moved  forward  to  receive  me, 
were  nymph-like  in  their  beauty.  They  doubted 
whether  M.  Yvelin  would  be  able  to  give  audience, 
but  when  I  mentioned  the  name  of  his  patroness 
one  of  them  hurried  away  to  ascertain  whether 
Monsieur  could  not  stretch  a  point — to  oblige 
the  Duchesse. 

"  '  If  Monsieur  consents,  it  will  be  at  the  cost  of 
offending  some  lady  who  has  waited  at  least  an 
hour,'  the  remaining  young  person  impressed  upon 


COUNTESS  AND  COUTURIERE      309 

me.  Certainly  there  was  a  monde  feu.  In  some 
parts  of  the  large  triple  showroom  the  crush  of 
clients  was  quite  terrific.  Several  mannequins — not 
the  living  article,  but  the  turned  ebony  and  red  satin 
variety  —  were  dotted  about,  displaying  lovely 
dresses ;  the  place  was  decorated  in  pure  white  with 
delicate  embellishments  of  gold.  The  carpets  and 
draperies  were  moss-green  of  a  lovely  shade.  Chairs 
and  lounges  of  every  shape  and  design  invited 
repose.  Tall  vases  were  brimming  with  flowers,  the 
tables  were  piled  with  serial  literature,  several  pretty 
pages  in  green  and  gold  offered  tea  and  bon-bons, 
a  subdued  hush  hung  over  all ;  for,  though  all  the 
world's  wives  were  there,  they  only  talked  in 
whispers.  Indeed,  a  polite  notice,  posted  on  one  of 
the  cedarwood  pillars  that  supported  the  open 
corridor-gallery  above,  requested  that  conversation 
should  be  carried  on  in  an  undertone. 

"  After  a  prolonged  wait  a  polite  official  came  to 
me.  I  was  conveyed  in  a  lift  to  the  first  floor,  and 
conducted  to  a  mysterious  portal  closely  veiled  with 
the  green  velvet  curtains,  embroidered  with  a  "  Y  " 
in  dull  gold.  A  silver  bell  chimed.  With  almost  a 
sensation  of  nervousness  I  passed  the  threshold. 
The  studio  of  M.  Yvelin  was  a  large  apartment, 
illuminated  by  a  flat-roof  skylight,  furnished  with 
at  least  half  a  dozen  sets  of  blinds  of  different  hues. 
Round  the  walls  were  electric  lights,  supplied  with 
sets  of  vari-coloured  shades,  while  long  looking- 
glasses,  so  arranged  that  they  could  be  pulled  out 


310      COUNTESS  AND  COUTURIERS 

from  the  walls  and  set  at  different  angles  for  the 
purposes  of  the  master  of  the  atelier,  formed  a  high 
dado  round  the  bare-looking  apartment,  which 
boasted  in  its  centre  a  kind  of  model's  throne  with 
a  chair  upon  it.  At  the  upper  end  of  the  long  room 
was  a  low  velvet  divan,  and  upon  this  a  pale  little 
young  man,  with  a  flowing  necktie  and  an  abundant 
head  of  upright  hair,  lay  flat,  staring  at  the  skylight 
and  smoking  a  cigarette. 

"  I  thought  it  necessary  to  cough.  The  little 
young  gentleman  with  the  hair  tossed  away  the 
cigarette  and  got  up.  He  made  me  a  deep  bow,  to 
which  I  responded  with  a  courteous  inclination,  then 
folded  his  little  arms  upon  his  breast,  and,  advanc- 
ing a  pace  or  two,  subjected  my  personality  to  a 
careful  and  exhaustive  scrutiny.  He  wore  a  suit  of 
chocolate  velvet,  made  baggily,  a  silk  shirt,  and 
crimson  Oriental  slippers  with  curly  toes.  He  was, 
as  I  have  said,  very  pale  and  small,  with  a  little 
moustache  that  bristled  cattishly,  and  large,  brilliant 
eyes,  one  green  and  the  other  black. 

"  I  essayed  to  speak  when  I  thought  I  had  been 
stared  at  sufficiently ;  but  M.  Yvelin  put  up  one  hand 
with  a  pained  expression,  said  'Pardon  !'  and  fell 
to  staring  again.  His  glance  seemed  to  penetrate 
the  inmost  recesses  of  my  being ;  I  felt  that  I  was 
being  painlessly  vivisected  by  this  artist  in  clothes. 
Presently  he  sighed  and  invited  me  to  ascend  the 
central  platform.  I  complied.  Mounted  thereon, 
M.  Yvelin  surveyed  me  through  a  tube  of  rolled- 


COUNTESS  AND  COUTURIERE      311 

up  black  paper,  and  again  I  underwent  the  sensa- 
tions I  have  described.  At  last  he  spoke,  and  in 
English  : 

"  'Madame  is  of  Albion,  it  is  to  see.  The  form 
so  massive — the  colour  so  abundant,  the  ensemble 
all  colossal — magnificent  to  overwhelm.  Madame 

has  been  recommended  by  the  Duchesse  de  X ? 

How  long  that  Madame  know  her — that  personality 
so  ravishing,  that  elegance  of  the  most  seductive, 
that  style  of  the  most  chic?  Where  the  Duchesse 
leads  they  follow  her — the  ladies  of  the  great  world ; 
it  is  what  you  English  call  a  scramble — an  iggle- 
pigelle — they  vie  each  with  each  to  copy.  Who 
should  wonder  ?  The  robe  Madame  requires — is  it 
for  the  reception,  the  dinner,  the  race,  the  ball,  or 
the  Court?' 

"  I  wanted  a  garment  for  a  dinner  to  meet 
Royalty,  to  be  followed  by  a  reception,  and  I  said 
so.  M.  Yvelin  demanded  the  colour  of  the  up- 
holstery and  decorations  of  my  host's  drawing-room^ 
and  the  prevailing  hue  of  the  table-decorations  to 
be  used  on  the  great  occasion.  When  I  confessed 
that  I  had  not  been  informed  he  expressed  surprise. 
No  hostess  of  the  great  world  of  Paris,  he  said  sadly, 
would  have  neglected  to  inform  her  feminine  guests 
upon  so  important  a  point.  Then  he  bade  me  seat 
myself  upon  the  Louis  XV.  chair  the  platform 
boasted,  and  hideous  to  relate,  as  he  pressed  with 
his  varnished  boot  upon  a  lever  hidden  under  the 
thick  carpet,  the  platform  began  to  revolve.  Dear 


312      COUNTESS  AND  COUTURIERE 

friend,  I  never  could  waltz,  so  prone  am  I  to  giddi- 
ness. I  said  to  myself  that  the  ordeal  would  not 
last  long,  and  nerved  my  frame  to  endurance. 
Snap  !  went  the  great  blind  over  the  skylight.  I 
spun  in  darkness  for  an  instant,  then  the  electric- 
lights  were  switched  on  in  blinding  brilliancy,  only 
to  change,  at  another  movement  of  the  relentless 
M.  Yvelin's  foot,  to  a  sickening  glare  of  green, 
which  gave  way  to  dazzling  yellow,  the  yellow  being 
succeeded  by  blue,  and  the  blue  by  crimson  of  the 
most  luridly  Mephistophelian  shade.  My  brain 
whirled,  my  heart  palpitated  alarmingly.  I  mastered 
sufficient  energy  to  cry,  '  Stop,  for  Mercy's  sake !'  but 
when  M.  Yvelin  politely  proffered  the  assistance  of 
his  hand  to  facilitate  my  descent  from  the  platform, 
my  exhausted  energies  gave  way.  Swooning,  I  sank 
upon  his  shoulder,  and — imagine  the  horror  of  it ! 
— his  frail  form  bent  under  my  weight,  his  legs 
refused  to  support  the  double  burden,  and  couturiere 
and  client  collapsed  upon  the  carpet. 

"Panting  forth  apologies,  I  sought  to  scramble 
to  my  feet.  But  I  had  inextricably  entangled  one 
foot  in  the  balayeuse  of  Valenciennes  which  adorned 
the  underskirt  of  a  certainly  expensive  and  decidedly 
becoming  afternoon  gown.  I  remained  in  a  kneel- 
ing position.  Thus  my  hands  were  seized;  and  as 
M.  Yvelin  bent  over  me,  so  close  that  his  hot  breath 
stirred  the  plumes  upon  my  hat  and  fluttered  my 
veil,  while  his  green  eye  and  his  black  eye  scorch- 
ingly  devoured  my  features,  he  poured  forth  a  flood 


COUNTESS  AND  COUTURIERS      313 

of  impassioned  eloquence  which  nothing  could  stem 
or  stay. 

"'Thou  lovest  me,  then!  The  frozen  heart  of 
the  English  miladi  has  melted  under  the  fire  of  my 
glances.  Is  it  not  so?  She,  who  has  doubtless 
scorned  the  ducal  Ambassador,  the  Milord  Guards- 
man, and  the  Sir  Millionaire — behold  her  a  suppliant 
— melted,  quivering,  imploring — at  the  feet  of  the 
poor  artist  of  Paris.  Alas  !  that  I  can  give  thee 
nothing  in  return.  Woe  to  me,  who  dare  not  drink 
from  the  goblet  of  Love  when  it  is  offered ;  who  must 
ever  parch,  unslaked,  amidst  the  upraised  hands  of 
fairwomen,  offering  solace  divine.  Child — poor  little 
one  ! — thou  shalt  know  my  unhappy  secret.  I  adore 

the  Duchesse  de  X ,  just  as  thou  dost  adore  me. 

Let  us  weep  together  ! — I  that  I  can  never  love  thee, 
thou  that  thou  art  never  to  be  loved  by  me — both  of 
us  for  her  who  glitters  above  us  in  her  icy  radiance, 
cold  and  lonely  in  her  crystalline  splendour,  whilst 
Paradise  awaits  her  here — here  upon  my  heart.  We 
must  part  now,  for  the  world  is  suspicious,  and  my 
forewoman,  who  is  another  of  my  victims  —  the 
passionate  Madame  Angelique — has  developed  a 
fatal  tendency  for  listening  outside  the  door.  Adieu, 
then,  unhappy  and  most  beautiful !  Go — and  re- 
member Alphonse  Yvelin  !' 

"  He  raised  me  gently  and  led  me  to  the  door, 
showing  me  out  with  a  profound  bow  as  I  staggered 
from  the  apartment  where  I  had  undergone  such  a 
frightful  ordeal.  Several  respectfully-mannered, 


314      COUNTESS  AND  COUTURIERE 

but  certainly  curious-eyed,  young  persons  led  me 
to  a  fitting-room.  My  measurements  were  taken ; 
I  escaped  to  the  outer  air.  As,  stepping  into  a 
fiacre,  I  drove  to  the  English  Embassy,  where  we 
were  staying,  it  occurred  to  me  with  hideous  plain- 
ness that  I  had  escaped  with  my  life  from  a  tete-a- 
tete  with  a  maniac. 

"  Dear  friend — quite  right.  The  unhappy  Yvelin 

had  lost  his  head  over  the  Duchesse  de  X .  The 

kindly  patronage  shown  him  by  one  of  the  greatest 
of  great  ladies,  the  playful  familiarity  of  her  manner 
with  the  artist  whose  reputation  she  had  made — the 
delirium  of  success,  coming  suddenly  to  one  who 
had  long  languished  in  poverty — all  had  contributed 
to  the  insanity  of  one  who  was  perhaps  the  greatest 
dressmaker  Paris  had  ever  seen. 

"Did  I  receive  the  gown?  I  did,  dear  friend, 
hideously  expensive,  but  a  confection  of  the  most 
divine;  a  combination  of  two  new  shades,  marvel- 
lously effective  by  artificial  light,  and  utterly  unlike 
anything  one  had  ever  seen  on  anybody  else,  don't 
you  know  !  A  card  was  pinned  to  the  corsage,  bear- 
ing this  inscription  : 

"'Should  Madame  la  Comtesse  desire  to  know 
the  name  of  the  two  shades  combined  in  this 
costume,  one  is  the  colour  of  a  frustrated  passion, 
and  the  other  the  hue  of  hopeless  love. — A.Y.' 

"  He  committed  suicide  not  long  afterwards  under 
the  most  extraordinary  circumstances,  hanging  him- 


COUNTESS  AND  COUTURIERS      315 

self  in  a  long  silk  sash  destined  to  form  part  of  a 
costume  to  be  worn  at  Longchamps  by  his  fatally- 
adored  Duchesse.  She  had  received  his  declaration 
and  laughed  at  it,  people  said.  She  wore  the  dress 
at  Monte  Carlo  afterwards,  sash  and  all,  and  broke 
the  bank  in  an  astonishing  series  of  twenty-three 
coups  on  the  red.  People  say  things  of  that  sort — I 
refer  to  the  sash  with  such  unpleasant  associations 
— bring  luck.  And  she  ran  away  afterwards  with 
a  Hungarian  violinist.  How  I  chatter,  dear  friend  ! 
You  are  too  indulgent  a  listener.  But  what  a  strange 
thing  life  is  I  And  what  queer  creatures  we  poor 
mortals  are,  aren't  we?  You  agree?  Naturally. 
Of  course." 


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